


Stay

by avioleta



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: AH - Freeform, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, First Time, Frottage, Literature, M/M, Male Slash, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Teacher-Student Relationship, professor Cullen, slash/backslash, twislash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avioleta/pseuds/avioleta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A literature student. A biology professor. A few works of fiction. And a lot of black tea.</p><p>"I think we should fuck."<br/>"What on earth for?"<br/>Edward rolled his eyes. "Should I draw you a chart? Or, I know. A list. I'll make you a list."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2010 for the Slash/Backslash 2.0 Contest hosted by Pastiche Pen and AngstGoddess, and my first foray into C/E fic. Thus began my love affair with this pairing...

The boy put down the book he was reading (today, it was Jeffrey Eugenides: _Middlesex_ ). He ran a damp cloth over the counter top before shoving the towel into his back pocket again and wiping his hands on the front of his apron (slung low around his hips). He glanced at the large clock on the wall; Carlisle's gaze followed.  A quarter to ten. Nearly closing time.

The cafe was practically empty; Carlisle was the only customer remaining. He was a regular. Seated at his regular corner table, sipping his regular cup of black tea (Darjeeling), and slowly flipping pages in his scientific (and rather boring) journal.

He came in practically every evening the boy worked. He ordered his tea and sat in the corner, sipping and reading. On Wednesdays, he would also order a cranberry-orange scone. But he didn't care for the poppy-seed kind the cafe had on Tuesdays, or the cinnamon raisin ones served on Thursdays. 

Tonight was Thursday. No scone.

"Can I get you anything else?" the boy (Edward, according to the plastic name tag that was crookedly affixed to his faded, gray uni tee-shirt) asked. "I'm about to close up here." He appeared to already know the answer, but it was polite customer service to ask anyway.

"Oh, is it that time already?" Carlisle replied, folding his journal neatly and placing it in his right breast coat pocket. "No. Nothing else for me.  Just the tea tonight."

He smiled, and the boy nodded vacantly. His eyes were really quite green. Strikingly so. Carlisle wondered why he'd never noticed before.

"Was there something else?" His question seemed to startle Edward out of his reverie, and he blushed, no doubt realizing that he'd been staring.

"Oh, no. I was just thinking..." He spoke quietly, ducking his head.

"About what?" Carlisle pressed. "If you don't mind my inquiring."

"Nothing really. It's just...your eyes..." His own eyes, upon realizing what he'd said, went rather wide at the admission. He blushed, cheeks pinking (coral, rose, fuchsia, magenta), and one pale hand flew to his mouth, as if desperately hoping to recapture the offending words. "Jesus. I'm sorry. I'm not sure what came over me. I'm just gonna finish cleaning up now."

Carlisle raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

The boy turned, hip bumping the small table as he did so, causing most of Carlisle's remaining tea to slosh over the brim of the chipped porcelain mug. "Shit," Edward cursed under his breath. "Here, let me get that." He quickly mopped up the spilled tea with his rag and apologized again. "Sorry, I'm not usually this clumsy."

He nodded. It was true. The boy was typically graceful, moving lithely in the cramped space between tables, balancing trays of steaming beverages deftly above his head. Carlisle would know; he'd certainly noticed.

He frequented the tiny cafe, stopping in nearly every evening he taught a late class or stayed after hours on campus, marking papers or holding extended office hours. The tea was shit, but that was to be expected. No one (aside from himself, of course) ordered it anyhow. The students certainly never did. Not when they could feed their caffeine addictions with mocha, frappe, double espressos (extra cream, add cinnamon, hold the milk) and so forth.

But the young man was nearly always there. He worked the evening shift (four until close) most weekdays, either manning the counter, or waiting on the small section of tables in the seating area. Every so often, he could be found working the cash register or restocking shelves in the adjoining University bookstore. But that was rare. Usually, he was in the cafe serving fancy coffee drinks, pastries, and the occasional cup of black tea.

OoOoO

A few nights later, Edward was sitting behind the register when Carlisle came in, shaking rain water off his umbrella. The boy's book was open on the counter in front of him (Matthew Pearl: _The Dante Club_ ), but he didn't appear to be reading. Instead, he seemed to be glaring (quite moodily) at the wall across from his perch on the stool.

"Rough day?"

"Hmm...?" Edward's eyes slowly refocused Carlisle's blue ones. "Oh, yeah. A bit. I had a paper due this morning, so I didn't get much sleep last night." Edward, perhaps realizing that he was rambling, snapped his mouth shut and jumped up to clean off Carlisle's usual table.

"That tends to happen when you procrastinate."

"Oh. Yeah, I suppose so. But I usually to do my best work under pressure. Perhaps not the most practical way to go about things, but—" The boy shrugged and blushed prettily. The blush suited him, but it was also a disturbing reminder of just how young he was.

Once Edward was done wiping down the table, he seemed unsure as to what to do with his hands, first twisting the towel between them, then sticking the rag into his back pocket, then hooking his thumbs through his rather worn belt loops.

"So, was it a good paper?"

"What? Oh, yes. I think so. I examined the line between fiction and reality in Atwood's _The Blind Assassin_." Pause. "Have you read it?"

"No."

"Oh. It's a good book."

It was strange, the man had seen this boy several times a week for the better part of a semester, but they'd never said more than a few words to one another.

( _What can I get for you? Your usual? Yes please. Thank you. Some weather we're having. Oh, yes. It's expected to rain all week. Anything else tonight? No, that will be all. Okay. Stay warm..._ )

Now, Carlisle couldn't understand the sudden urge he felt to talk to the young man.

Edward returned with his tea, steaming in a faded, yellow mug.

"I take it you're a student at the University?"

"Yes. A Junior. I just declared my major. English lit."

God, a Junior. He seemed younger than that. But, then again, they always did. "You're always reading."

"Occupational hazard." The boy smiled tentatively and ran a hand through hopelessly disheveled hair.

"And what do you intend to do with a major in English literature?"

The boy pursed his lips, but it was clear he'd been asked that question before. "I'm not sure yet. Write maybe. Or teach. I think I'd like to teach."

"I see."

"So you work nearby?" Edward asked, after a long pause. "I see you in here all the time."

"Yes. At the University as well."

"Really? Are you a professor?" the boy inquired, genuinely interested. "I haven't seen you around campus."

"I teach biology."

"Oh. Well, that would explain it. I placed out of sciences with my scores from high school. Frankly, I'm not even sure I know where the Bio. Department is. No offense."

"None taken." He blew the steam off the top of his mug before taking a slow sip.

"So how long have you taught at Northwestern?"

"This is my first year. I am a visiting professor."

"Ah. Visiting from where?"

"Washington State." Edward frowned slightly.

"Not what you were expecting?"

"No. I mean, well, your accent..."

"Oh yes. My family is originally from London. I moved to the states to go to university. I've been here nearly twenty years, but the accent, I'm afraid, stuck."

"I like it." The boy blushed again, a lovely pink. Carlisle wondered if he ever felt light headed with all that blood rushing constantly to his cheeks.

He finished his tea in one long sip. "Well, I suppose I must be going. Until next time?"

"Yea. Next time." And Carlisle suddenly realized how much he would look forward to next time.

OoOoO

The boy was reading a different book on Wednesday (Henry Miller: _Tropic of Cancer_ ). Probably not a school book this time. Unless, he was taking a course on aesthetic sexuality in contemporary literature. But that seemed unlikely. Perhaps he didn't have a paper due this week. Carlisle would have to ask.

Edward brought his tea before he'd even had a chance to look at the board declaring the day's specials (not that he needed assistance in deciding what to order). He thanked him for the beverage, and the young man smiled shyly, pushing a strand of unruly hair out of his face only to have it fall right back again.

Edward returned to the counter and resumed his reading without another word, but Carlisle was certain he saw the boy look up once or twice, deliberately glancing in his direction, only to hide his face behind his book again almost immediately. Interesting. Or, perhaps it was only a trick of the light. After all, why would the beautiful young student be looking at him?

Several other customers came in. Carlisle watched as Edward anticipated their orders with startling accuracy. Half soy that. Extra foam this. Just an orange juice today. It was rather impressive; he never even put his book down.

OoOoO

Edward finished his chapter and marked his place with an old receipt, furtively glancing at the table in the corner. The attractive professor was still there, sipping his tea (as usual) and thumbing through his scientific journal. He seemed to be fully immersed in his reading, and Edward found himself wondering which branches of biology interested the man.

Edward couldn't understand why he was suddenly rather obsessed with this customer. There were plenty of other regulars whom frequented the cafe. Yes, the man was attractive (bordering on gorgeous, really), and he was rather intriguing. But Edward saw other good-looking customers everyday. And the professor was older – late thirties, perhaps early forties. (It was difficult to say). His hair was still thick and blonde. And his eyes, God his eyes... They were incredibly blue, like the ocean or the sky on a clear day.

He was staring rather openly now. The man was absorbed in his article; he wouldn't notice.

Edward took in the gentle curve of his spine as he leaned forward, the man's long fingers drumming on the table, but he kept coming back to his face. There were hardly any lines around his lovely eyes. Just tired shadows. But Edward had those too; his too-pale skin turned nearly translucent after a few sleepless, paper writing nights.

There were faint lines around the man's mouth as well, and they crinkled (just so) when he reached an interesting point in his reading or took a sip of tea. Laugh lines. Edward wondered if he would ever laugh enough in his lifetime to have lines like those. He hoped so.

"Contemplating my eyes again, Edward?"

Fuck. He'd been caught. Again. That was twice in so many days. What the hell was wrong with him? The man had put down his journal and was looking straight at him, holding his gaze firmly. Edward's pale cheeks flamed hot. "Yes... I mean no. I, er, would you like a scone today?" He tried to cover quickly. "It's Wednesday."

The professor smiled softly but checked his watch and sighed. "Unfortunately, it appears I will not be able to indulge in one of those lovely scones tonight. You see, my daughter is performing in a ballet recital, and she is due on stage in approximately thirty-five minutes."

Oh. Of course. He had a daughter. A family. That was to be expected.

Why then, did it bother Edward so much?

The professor continued, but Edward was hardly listening anymore. "My ex-wife will be furious if I am late."

Ex-wife? That caught Edward's attention again.

It was disquieting (to say the least) for Edward to suddenly find himself so enamored with a customer, a customer who had literally said ten sentences to him...ever. And to be jealous of his ex-wife? But, at the same time, he couldn't help but be pleased that it was an ex.

Regardless of prefixes, however – ex or no ex – the operative word was still wife. And Edward was entirely too male to compete with that.

He blushed (again), decided that he definitely needed to get out more, and turned away, wiping down several already clean tables.

OoOoO

Was it just his imagination, or did the boy's expression brighten at the mention of his ex-wife? Surely not. But Carlisle couldn't help the slight flutter in his stomach, as he downed the last swallow of his tea and fished in his pocket for the tip. He left two dollars more than usual, but the boy did look particularly lovely that night – all flushed beauty, bitten lips, and cautious optimism.

Edward was off the next day. Carlisle refused to admit how disappointed he was.

OoOoO

Two evenings later, the customer left his wallet. Edward found it, propped against his empty teacup. The man had been working more intently than usual that day, papers and journals spread out across his small, corner table. And he'd left quickly, nodding once at Edward before pulling on his coat and hurrying out the door.

Edward couldn't resist. After wiping down the last of the tables, he sat down on his stool behind the counter and opened the wallet. Assorted credit cards, an old movie ticket stub ( _The Girl who Played with Fire_ ), a library card, a few loose bills, and a Northwestern University Faculty ID: Dr. Carlisle Cullen, Biology Department.

Edward realized then that he'd never even asked the man's name. The customers all knew his name of course, by virtue of the small plastic tag he was required to wear whenever he was in the cafe or book store. But the professor had never introduced himself.

Carlisle. It seemed old fashioned. Probably a family name or something. Then again, 'Edward' wasn't exactly the epitome of popularity either. He'd been named after his father and, come to think of it, had never known another Edward his age.

There was also an Illinois driver's license. Edward wondered absently if the professor had a car. Not many people he knew did; it was too expensive to park. But there was an address, of course. And a birth date. November 22, 1972. Carlisle Cullen was thirty-nine years old. Nineteen years older than Edward and exactly the same age his father would be, were he still alive.

Dr. Cullen lived just a few blocks off campus in a small, rather expensive neighborhood. Although Edward could never afford that area, the professor's home appeared to be just minutes from his considerably cheaper university housing.

Convenient.

Edward caught himself then. Convenient for what?

He took a deep breath, put the wallet on the shelf under the register, and picked up his book. But, fifteen minutes later, when he realized he'd done nothing more than stare at the same page, he shut the book again.

Edward closed early. It was a slow night. And, although he knew he should leave the wallet for his manager in case Dr. Cullen came looking for it in the morning, he took it with him instead. Tomorrow was his day off and, now that he knew the professor's address, he could return the wallet in person.

OoOoO

The next morning, as Edward stood on Dr. Cullen's front porch and rang the bell, he began to seriously regret his decision. He felt foolish, uncomfortable, awkward as hell. It was a miserable day, cold and windy and definitely threatening rain. He'd forgotten his umbrella, and his well-worn jacket provided minimal protection against the crisp, damp air.

 _Maybe he's not home. I can just take the wallet back to the cafe and leave it with the manager like I should have done in the first place_. Edward ran a hand through his hair and wished, for once, that he'd taken a brush to it that morning.

He was just about to turn to leave when the door opened. Dr. Cullen stood there in his shirt sleeves; he was clearly getting ready for work. Against his volition (and better judgment), Edward's eyes flitted down the man's body, taking in the lean muscles under the thin, cotton dress shirt, the worn leather belt cinched around narrow hips, the long legs, bare feet... Shit. He was staring again. That was really becoming a problem.

"Ah. It's Edward, right?" The melodic voice pulled Edward's attention out of the gutter and back to the man's face. "What are you doing here?"

"I, er, your wallet," Edward stammered (quite uncharacteristically) but managed to produce the object in question. "You left it at the cafe last night. Today is my day off. I thought I'd return it."

"Oh, wonderful. Thank you. I was planning to stop by today, even though I knew you wouldn't be there."

Edward decided not to obsess over the fact that the professor evidently knew his work schedule.

"Come in."

"I..." He hadn't expected to be invited in, but there was little he could do at that point; he allowed himself to be ushered through the door, wallet still in hand.

Carlisle Cullen led him through a narrow entryway, past a dark doorway leading to what looked like a formal dining room, and into a warm and brightly lit kitchen. A pot of tea was steeping on the stove top, and a plate of buttered toast sat untouched on the corner of the table.

"How about some tea?" the professor offered, fetching two delicate teacups from a cabinet.

"That's not necessary," Edward responded quickly.

"Nonsense. It's the least I can do after you've come all this way. Let me serve you for once."

"It's not that far, really," Edward countered, taking the cup anyway. "I live in university housing just off University Place."

"Do you like it there?"

"It's all right. Convenient."

"I see. How do you take your tea?"

"I...don't know." Edward hadn't had tea before. No one he knew drank the stuff. Except, of course, for the professor. Dr. Cullen chuckled softly, poured a splash of milk into Edward's cup, and then filled it to the brim with the warm, brown liquid.

The professor took his black, as always.

OoOoO

They talked for over an hour. Edward apparently had nothing else to do, and Carlisle did not have a class until 11:30. The boy's nervousness seemed to melt away with the first cup of tea, and conversation came easier then.

"Where are you from?" Carlisle

"Here...well, not Evanston, but in Chicago."

"Of course.  Any family here? Siblings?"

"No. Just my mom. My father died when I was small."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay. I don't remember him anyway. My mom has a pretty serious boyfriend though. But that's another story altogether."

Something in his tone made Carlisle frown.  "You don't like him?"

"No. It's not that. He's good for her I suppose. But I'd rather not talk about it."

Carlisle discovered that Edward liked sushi, read E.M. Forster and Jane Austen when no one was looking, and worked extra hours at the cafe so he could afford to live in university housing. He could live at home to save money, but he wanted to give his mother and her new boyfriend some privacy. And, he liked living alone.

OoOoO

Edward returned to Carlisle's home a few days later. He wasn't expected, but the professor didn't seem surprised to see him either.

From that day on, he became a regular fixture at Dr. Cullen's kitchen table. They drank a lot of tea (Edward discovered that he liked his strong with a splash of milk), complained about Chicago's dreadful winters, and made fun of some of the more eccentric cafe-goers. Often, they simply sat in silence and read. Edward read (Faulkner, Roth, Mailer, Fitzgerald, Zusak, Dante, Wharton). Sometimes he had a paper due; often he didn't.  Carlisle always had his laptop out, a stack of research material beside him.

"What are you working on," Edward asked one afternoon, leaning dangerously close to Carlisle. His shift started in two hours, and he had every intention of hanging out at Carlisle's kitchen table until then.

"An article on molecular degeneration. I hope to have it published in the next Quarterly."  He smiled softly at Edward, his mouth just inches from his. "When I'm finished, perhaps you could read it for me."

Edward's pulse quickened, and he leaned back before he did something foolish like inhale too deeply or lick the man. "Yeah. I'd like that."

They sat in silence then. Edward counted heartbeats and attempted to slow his breathing. Although he'd long tried to deny it, Dr. Cullen did strange things to his blood (not to mention other parts of his anatomy).

"Who is your favorite author?" the professor asked a while later.

"J.K. Rowling."  Edward managed to keep a straight face.

"You're kidding."

"Yes."

After a long pause he asked: "So, why biology?"

"I always wanted to be a doctor." The professor looked up, blue eyes bright. "Well, my father wanted me to at least."

"Why didn't you go to medical school?"

"I did."

"And?"

"Turns out I'm rather squeamish."

"Oh?" Edward smirked, his lovely lips curving crookedly.

"Yes. I can't stomach blood at all. During my first practical, a child came in. He'd fallen off his bicycle and split open his forehead. I passed out cold while watching the nurse stitch him up. It was quite embarrassing really. So I transferred out of med school and into the PhD program."

Edward laughed, a clear, bell-like sound. The professor scowled.

"I can't handle blood either," he admitted a few moments later. "Or shots."

Carlisle raised an elegant eyebrow.

"I nearly faint every time I get a flu shot. The nurses at health services know me now. They make me lie down and everything."

"Appallingly pathetic."

Edward laughed again. "Well, at least I knew better than to try to become a doctor."

"Touche."

"Cormac McCarthy."

"Hmm...?"

"My favorite author."

OoOoO

A few nights later, a girl came into the cafe. She was young and pretty, with dark, spiky hair, eyes the color of chocolate, and skin like milk. She kissed Edward on both cheeks and plonked herself down at the counter like she'd been coming there for ages.

The tea seemed to sour in Carlisle's stomach, and he suddenly felt rather cold and empty.

Of course there was a girl.

He watched as the boy (who actually appeared to be glowing) served the girl an espresso in a tiny shot glass. She downed it readily, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The two spoke intimately; they knew each other well.

The professor left without a word, silently berating himself for feeling jealous and hurt. Of course Edward had a girlfriend. He was attractive, funny, and smart. Quite certainly everything a girl could want.

The pretty girl came in with increasing regularity after that point, and she and Edward left together, arm and arm, many nights. Carlisle couldn't help but treat the boy a bit coldly now, and he began leaving the cafe earlier and earlier.

Edward was clearly confused by his altered behavior, but the professor didn't care; the boy had other things to occupy his attention. Until, one night, the girl noticeably did not appear.

"Where's your escort?"

"My what? Oh, you mean Alice."

The professor inclined his head.

"Not sure. I imagine she's off with Jasper or something. She didn't say."

"And you don't mind that she is off with another man?"

"What?" Edward looked confused.

Surely the boy wasn't so innocent as to not understand why it was inadvisable for his beautiful (and rather flirtatious) girlfriend to be off on her own.

Slowly, however, realization dawned on the boy. But then he smiled his crooked smile and laughed unexpectedly. "You thought Alice was my girlfriend?" More laughter.

Frankly, Carlisle didn't see what was so funny about the situation, but Edward was practically cackling. "No. No. Alice is just a friend, really. But I'll have to tell her you thought otherwise. She'll get a kick out of that." Edward was still laughing when he went to help the next customer.

OoOoO

"What happened between you and your wife?"

"We grew apart, I suppose." Carlisle put down the journal he was reading. "We married young. Had Rosalie a year later. I loved her, but I think I was trying too hard to be someone I'm not."

"But they moved to Chicago?"

"Esme is from here originally. I met her at school. They followed me, of course, with each new teaching position. But when it became...apparent that things were no longer working, she took Rose and moved back home."

"Do you regret it?"

Another pause. "I regret hurting them. Both Esme and Rosalie. But otherwise, no. Not at all."

"Why?"

"Because I have my daughter. You should meet her sometime."

OoOoO

"I need a new assistant. Would you be interested?"

"Excuse me?"

"You wouldn't need to do much. Just help me record grades and set up the occasional experiment. Perhaps two mornings a week."

"I know nothing about biology."

"Not necessary. And I'll pay you more than you make at the cafe. We can work around your schedule."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

Carlisle wasn't entirely sure what came over him. It was absurd really, asking the boy to be his assistant. Several of his biology majors would kill for the position, and he'd just given the coveted spot to a...literature student?

He justified it of course. The position would require a minimal amount of subject-specific knowledge (nothing an intelligent student like Edward couldn't pick up as he went along). And, it would be better to have an assistant whom he could count on to work hard, rather than one of his own students who was primarily concerned with padding his or her grade point average. Besides, the boy could use the money.

Yes. It was better this way. And, it had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to spend more time with Edward. No. Nothing at all.

OoOoO

But somewhere, in between working together in the biology lab, regular cups of black tea, and Edward's visits to Carlisle's kitchen table, something indefinable shifted in their relationship. Edward still called Carlisle 'Dr. Cullen' in public, but he'd had long since become Carlisle to him.

At the cafe, Edward would stand obscenely close while taking his order – black tea (and a scone on Wednesdays). He'd lean over the table, palms pressed to the smooth surface, his long-sleeved shirt rolled up to the elbows, baring slender forearms.

He was so young, too young. Carlisle knew this. But Edward would lean close enough to tease, while carefully maintaining the facade of casual contact. Contact that (had it be anyone else) would have been dismissed immediately as accident or chance.

Edward's smooth finger would brush against his wrist (accidentally, deliberately), or trail delicately along a shoulder blade. His movements, almost imperceptible, were clearly contrived, suggestive. His his breath would fan warm against Carlisle's neck, or ghost across his cheek (nonchalantly, but lacking all innocence). And Carlisle could taste the delicious scent of the boy, all sandalwood and honeyed spice.

"You know, I've been thinking about what you told me. But I completely disagree. You're wrong about Evelyn Waugh. He's every bit as much the aesthete as Oscar Wilde. I refuse to believe otherwise."

Such exchanges would last mere seconds. Edward would pull away then, all impish smiles and flashing eyes. To the innocent bystander, the young man could merely be making a coffee recommendation, but their clandestine conversations left Carlisle's pulse racing. His trousers would grow uncomfortably tight, and he would ache in ways he hadn't in quite some time.

Edward had seeped into his skin. He could feel him in his very pores, and it was overwhelming, disconcerting, and exhilarating.

OoOoO

Edward made a good assistant. He was quiet; at times he was distracted (but what undergraduate was not?). He still read every chance he had, but he did everything Carlisle asked of him.

Edward would spend his mornings in the lab wiping down tables, cleaning supplies, and painstakingly arranging test tubes for the afternoon's experiments. Dr. Cullen would work at his desk or stand alongside. They were comfortable together, and (thankfully) Edward didn't feel the need to fill the silence with endless chatter. Occasionally he'd ask: "Where do these go?" or "Any more beakers for me to rinse?" – this question always seemed to imply that he'd rinsed enough beakers for a lifetime. But that was all. Things were working out nicely. And it had nothing to do with how lovely Edward looked in khakis and a pullover.

Their fingers would brush occasionally, sending fizzles of electric energy sliding down Carlisle's spine, but he'd only smile crookedly and continue on with whatever task he was performing. Sometimes, Edward would lean too close, or their hips would bump accidentally, flooding Carlisle's veins with warmth that tightened his stomach and pooled in his groin.

Edward said nothing.

"I was thinking," Carlisle ventured one afternoon, "that perhaps I should always select assistants with no background in biology."

The boy blinked, long lashes rising and falling, and his lovely mouth quirked, conveying both satisfaction and something else entirely. "Nah. I'm just working out because you like me much better than your other students."

And, really, there was nothing he could say to that.

At night, Carlisle would lie down in bed and palm his cock, imagining what it would be like to taste the boy's breath and feel his hands on his skin (sliding down his chest, over his hips, between his legs). He'd picture Edward him, sweat-slick skin sliding against sweat-slick skin, legs wrapped tight around his thighs. He'd moan, eyes shut tight in concentration, hips thrusting into his hand.

And he'd come almost instantly.

But nothing had happened.

OoOoO

"I'm not sure Jasper is good for Alice," Edward began with absolutely no preamble.

Carlisle went to the stove to start the tea. The boy sounded rather vehement, and he wondered if something had happened.

"Why? He sounds like a good guy."

"He is, but— Never mind. It doesn't matter."

"Tell me."

Edward chewed on his lip, considering. Carlisle's eyes absolutely were not drawn to the sight of just bitten, pink flesh caught between perfect white teeth.

"We went out."

Carlisle raised an eyebrow.

"Very briefly. Actually, that's how he and Alice met." Edward narrowed his lovely green eyes. "I liked him. Quite a lot, really." He frowned softly. "But he realized that he preferred women. Well, he preferred Alice, at least. Over me."

They were silent for a long while. Carlisle poured the tea. Edward turned the cup around on its saucer but did not drink.

"I'm gay."

Pause.

"Edward, I know."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Not especially."

"Yeah, it is."

Another pause.

"Yes. I suppose it is."

Edward looked up, dark eyes searching Carlisle's face. "You don't mind?"

"Why would I?"

"I'm not sure. Most people mind."

OoOoO

They worked late one night, Edward cataloging glassware, Carlisle marking mid-terms.

"Let's get a drink."

Carlisle was so surprised at the suggestion that he agreed without question. They walked side by side for a few blocks. Edward clearly knew where they were headed, and the professor followed readily.

Carlisle recognized the bar; he'd been there a few times before, but Edward was obviously a regular. He led them to a rather secluded booth (red cushioned seats and dark paneling), and, within moments, a pretty girl with dark wavy hair appeared at their table.

"Edward! So good to see you." She enveloped him in a large hug. "Who's your friend?" The girl eyed Carlisle critically.  He refused to feel self-conscious under her scrutiny.  

"Bella, this is Dr. Cullen. I'm working as his lab assistant this semester."

Her expression softened at that. "Oh. Okay. You want your usual?"

"Yes please, love."

"And you?"

"Whatever he's having," Carlisle answered.

A few minutes later, Bella set two glasses of Newcastle on the table between them. Edward took a large gulp; Carlisle watched his mouth, his throat as he swallowed.

"Are you even old enough to be here?"

Edward's cheeks flushed a lovely pink, but he tried to hide it behind his glass. "Yes...I mean no. Not exactly." Sheepish smile. "I'm twenty. I'll be twenty-one in June."

"But they serve you?"

"Bella does."

"They've carded me here before," Carlisle added, shaking his head.

"Yeah. They do that. And you are gorgeo- ...I, er, mean you're rather young looking." Edward's cheeks were bordering on magenta.

"I could be your father, you know."

"Yes."  Edward waved a hand between them.  "But it would have been a teenage pregnancy. Nasty things. I don't recommend it."

Afterward, they walked together toward Edward's apartment. Their fingertips brushed, and Carlisle felt Edward's warmth flash hot across his skin. Then, it was the most natural thing for their fingers to intertwine, palm pressed to palm. Edward's thumb stroked back and forth.

They arrived at Edward's door, fingers still laced together.

"Now would be the time when you kiss me goodnight," the boy murmured softly, breath far too sweet and far too close.

Carlisle tensed. Was he serious? Did he want him to be?

But then Edward laughed, a high pitched, nervous sound. "But I suppose that would shatter the facade." He smiled wistfully. "You know, two colleagues grabbing a drink after a long day."

"Yes. I suppose it would."

"Goodnight Carlisle."

"Goodnight Edward."

OoOoO

Carlisle's doorbell rang at a quarter to two in the morning the following Friday. He wasn't asleep; he routinely stayed up well past three, and he didn't teach a class in the morning. Still, he was immediately filled with equal measures of irritation and concern. Who could be bothering him at this hour?

The bell rang again. Carlisle grabbed his dressing gown from the back of the chair and walked to the front door.

Edward stood on the front porch. And he was drunk.

He smiled impishly when Carlisle opened the door, but then swayed forward, nearly toppling into Carlisle's arms. He smelled like a bar, all whiskey and beer and stale cigarette smoke. But his breath was warm against Carlisle's neck.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Of course I should."

"Not tonight. Not like this."

Edward scowled, pretty pink lips curling into a delicious pout, and he swayed forward again. "Would you like me to leave, sir?" he murmured, mouth against Carlisle's throat.

"You can't call me 'sir' with your mouth there."

"Okay."

And Carlisle's own mouth was suddenly filled with Edward's tongue. The kiss was sloppy and wet (after all, the boy could barely stand up), but what he lacked in finesse (and good sense), Edward made up for in enthusiasm. Carlisle surrendered almost immediately, opening his mouth to the boy's.

Edward moaned and slipped his fingers through his hair; Carlisle allowed himself to be pulled closer. He couldn't think; his head swum with all the delicious noises Edward was making. Their bodies pressed warm together, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. The young man groaned again, and Carlisle felt the firm line of his erection hard against his hip.

Edward rocked against him, searching for that perfect angle. And when Carlisle's hand slipped down over the curve of his waist to pull their hips together, Edward groaned, hips jerking against him.

"Oh God, Carlisle," he breathed, eyes wide, hips still moving.

But when his fingers moved to the sash at Carlisle's waist that held the dressing gown together, Carlisle caught his wrist, pulling his hand away.  He wouldn't do this.  Not now.  Not like this. "No Edward. Stop."

And Edward's expression darkened, green eyes flashing, but he let go and allowed himself to be led inside.

Within minutes, they were seated at the kitchen table, cradling warm mugs of tea. Edward stared gloomily into the dark brown liquid, but said nothing. 

"How do you feel?" Carlisle finally asked, once the boy had managed a few sips of tea.

"A bit better. Maybe. Still quite drunk. Frustrated as hell." He eyed Carlisle pointedly.

Carlisle wasn't entirely sure what to say to that. Part of him wanted to send Edward away with absolutely no delusions that this could ever happen again. It was wrong. He was a student (not his student, his mind supplied helpfully), but a student nonetheless. And he was young. Too young. Closer to his daughter's age than his own.

Edward had no idea what he wanted. And, even if he thought he did, he'd change his mind in a few weeks. The boy would realize that there were a lot more appropriate choices out there. He'd meet a young man (or woman), and suddenly regret wasting time, energy, and drunken fumblings on a man who was old enough to be his father.

Edward would thank him some day.

But, judging from the rather mutinous expression on the boy's lovely face, that probably would not happen tonight.

"Why?" Carlisle didn't need to say anything else. Edward understood.

At first he shrugged, said nothing. Then: "My mother and I got into a fight tonight. Well, her boyfriend and I did."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

The boy shrugged again and looked down into his mug. "We had dinner. Started out quite nice actually. But then my mom asked if I was seeing anyone." Edward looked up again. "She shouldn't have gone there," he said softly. "It's not her business, really. But I told them that there was someone I really liked, you know. And, of course they wanted to know where I'd met _her_." He emphasized the word, his voice still soft but laced with fierceness.

"And?" the professor prompted.

"And when I explained that I'd met him at the cafe where I worked, things deteriorated rather rapidly."

They were silent for a while. Edward absorbed in his own thoughts. Carlisle considering the implication of Edward's last statement. He'd suspected it for quite sometime – that the boy fancied him. And, of course, tonight's little performance on the porch had left little to the imagination. Still, it's one thing to suspect something, and quite another to hear it spoken out loud...

His thoughts were interrupted when Edward spoke again.

"I think my mother knew, or suspected at least – that I like men, I mean. And I think she wanted to be supportive. But her boyfriend..." Edward looked at Carlisle, his green eyes, usually so warm, glinted coldly, like chips of jade. "Her boyfriend was furious. He started yelling that he wouldn't tolerate a 'fucking faggot' in his house." Edward spat the words, but he looked as though he might cry. "Carlisle, we were sitting at my mother's table, in her dining room, and this man tells me that I am no longer welcome in his house." He paused, taking a deep breath. Carlisle knew he was struggling to control his emotions. Finally: "They're not even married. That's the house I grew up in."

Carlisle moved around the table to put an arm around the boy. Edward leaned against him readily, resting his head on the older man's shoulder. His hopeless hair smelled of smoke and stale beer, but his warm weight against him felt soothing and...right.

"And what did you do?"

"There wasn't much to do, really. He called me some other choice names after that. Some I hadn't even heard before." He paused, fiddling with a thread on his sweater sleeve. "He is obviously quite set in his opinion. My mother couldn't really intervene; I think she was too shocked to do anything." Another pause. "And, I wouldn't have wanted her to anyway. So, I thanked her for dinner and left. She didn't try to stop me. Funny," he said, tilting his face up to Carlisle's, "I always thought he was a pretty decent guy."

"So this happened over dinner?"

"Yes."

"Edward, that was hours ago."

"Oh, yeah. I went to the bar for a while. I needed a drink...or three. Bella was quite worried about me too. She almost wouldn't let me leave on my own. But I told her I had a place to go." He paused again, shifting to get a bit closer to the professor. "She likes you I think."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Said you were cute. Too old for me, but cute all the same."

"And...do you agree with her."

Edward turned, twisting in Carlisle's arms to face him. "No. Not at all." He smiled, a soft, lopsided smile. "You're not too old for me. And 'cute' is a rather grievous understatement."

Carlisle took a sip of now cold tea and tried to come up with an appropriate response.

"I want you, you know."

"Edward, you don't—"

"Don't tell me that I don't know what I want." He stared up at Carlisle, his gaze holding his firmly. "I've known for weeks. When I'm with you, for the first time in my life, everything feels right. We make sense together. You have to see that."

Carlisle was silent for a moment that stretched and stretched. For weeks he'd been ignoring the pleasant, disquieting tendrils of warmth that curled in his stomach and spread through his limbs whenever he thought about, was around Edward.

"You're young. You'll find someone who's better suited for you—"

"I dream about you." Edward cut him off. He was still staring, green eyes intense. "Nearly every night. And I think about you when I jerk off. It never takes long. Seconds really. All I need to think about are your lips, your hands on my body, your skin touching my skin..."

Carlisle's breath caught. If he thought he was aroused before, he was positively aching now.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," the boy said after a few moments when Carlisle hadn't responded. "I shouldn't have told you that." He looked down, eyes shadowed and cheeks pink. "That must be the whiskey talking. I feel like crap." He began to get up, but Carlisle tightened his arm around him.

"It's okay," Edward whispered. "I'll go now. Thanks for the tea."

"Nonsense. You're not going anywhere. It's late, and the weather's dreadful. Sit here for a moment. I'll make up the couch for you."

By the time Carlisle returned to the kitchen, Edward was asleep, head pillowed in his arms.

And, for some reason Carlisle didn't entirely understand, he carried the boy, not to the sofa in the den, but to his own room, where he laid him gently on his bed. Edward mumbled something incomprehensible before rolling over, once again fast asleep.

Carlisle took the bed he'd made up on the couch, but it was a long time before he got any sleep that night.

OoOoO

The next morning, Edward found a new toothbrush by the sink, with a glass of water and two aspirin. Carlisle was in the kitchen; he had a warm mug of tea waiting for Edward beside a plate of plain toast.

"I was in your bed."

"I know."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure."

"You weren't there."

"I know."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure about that either."

But later, when Edward moved across the room to wrap his arms around Carlisle's waist as he stood at the sink, the older man tensed under his touch. And then, when Edward pressed his lips to the man's neck, to trail moist kisses along his throat, Carlisle pushed him away.  It felt like he'd stabbed him with a knife in the gut.

"Why? What's wrong?" he asked; he couldn't help the hurt bleeding into his voice.

"I can't. I don't—"

"But I thought... Last night..."

Carlisle took a deep, steadying breath. "You were wrong. I don't want this." He closed his eyes against Edward's disbelieving, pained stare.. "Go home Edward."

OoOoO

Edward was not at the cafe the next day, or the next. The manager told Carlisle that he had called in sick and, no, he could not give out an employee's telephone number.  Carlisle didn't know if it was strange that they hadn't ever exchanged numbers before.

That night, though, as he filled his mug with more brandy than tea, he tried to tell himself that it was for the best.

He wasn't good for the boy. That should have been obvious weeks ago. And though he should never have allowed things to get to this point, it was better that it end now, before anything happened... before either of them were really hurt.

But it was a lie. And even another cup of tea (brandy) couldn't convince him otherwise.

He wanted the boy – wanted Edward more than he'd ever wanted anything before (and more than he'd ever want anything again). He wanted him filling his hands and filling his mouth. Wanted him underneath him, on top of him, all around him – inside his skin, his throat, his body, his mind. He wanted the boy's mouth, his tongue, his impish smiles. He wanted the taste of him on his lips and in his hair. And he wanted to touch him, hold him, consume him, fiercely, intensely, endlessly.

OoOoO

Edward didn't show up at the lab the next morning. Since he'd started as Carlisle's assistant, he'd never missed a day of work. He'd never even been late.

And Carlisle felt his absence acutely. A hollow space in his chest, just behind his ribs, beneath his heart, aching, as though from an old wound.

That night, he went to Edward's apartment and knocked on the door.

There was no answer, but he hadn't really expected there to be.

He walked to the bar then, hoping, perhaps, that the boy might be there. Bella glared at him when he walked in, but then motioned to a booth in the corner. "He's in the back," she said reluctantly. "I don't think he wants to see you."

Carlisle thanked her, but as he moved to walk past her, she put a hand on his arm, stopping him. "Don't you dare hurt him," she whispered fiercely, fingers digging into his bicep.

"I won't," he managed, impressed with the girl's protectiveness.

Edward was alone, nursing what appeared to be his first beer. His book, _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_ (Zombies? Carlisle would investigate later), sat untouched beside him. He wasn't even pretending to read.

Edward's eyes brightened momentarily when Carlisle sat down across from him but clouded again almost instantly.

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you."

"I'm sorry I didn't come to the lab today. That was unacceptable. I'm not usually so irresponsible."

"I know, Edward. That's not why I'm here."

"I'll be there Monday. I'll work for as long as you need me to – until you find another assistant."

"I don't want another assistant."

The boy seemed slightly confused but said nothing. Carlisle's chest ached at the way Edward looked at him – like something that used to be incredibly valuable but had faded over time.

"You were right."

Edward blinked.

"You were right about everything," Carlisle continued. "We do make sense. I just didn't want to see it before."

The boy took a rather large gulp of his beer.

"I am too old for you."

Edward scowled.

"And you can do better. But if you still want me, I'd like to make it work."

Within an instant, the boy was over the table and in his lap. Carlisle heard a glass spill – Edward's Newcastle, probably. But it didn't matter because he had his arms around the boy's waist and his mouth pressed to Edward's. It was their first real kiss, and it was warm and sweet and perfect, perfect, perfect.

Edward shifted on top of him, as his tongue slid slickly against Carlisle's. He moaned (a delightful sound), and Carlisle felt himself harden as Edward rocked experimentally back and forth.

Carlisle pulled back breathlessly after a few long moments. The boy's eyes were dilated, lips red and freshly bitten. His skin was flushed, pretty pink with arousal. He was so beautiful. So perfect.  So...young.

Carlisle closed his eyes, trying to steady himself, as Edward continued to ghost his lips over his skin.

"We need to leave," he whispered against the boy's throat. "Now."

Edward inhaled sharply, heart thudding against his ribs, but he made no move to get up. Conversely, he circled his hips again, ass sliding deliciously over Carlisle's erection, his own cock pressed firmly against Carlisle's stomach.

"Edward!" Carlisle hissed again, but the boy only swallowed his protest with a rather languid kiss.

"Relax," he murmured. "No one can see us back here. And I've waited far too long to do this."

Carlisle had to admit that the boy had a point. From the way they were situated in their corner booth, it would be impossible for anyone to see them unless they walked directly by their table. And the bar was practically deserted at this hour.

Carlisle made a split second (and rather reckless) decision. He slid the boy off his lap, bearing him backwards into the corner. Edward's mouth opened in surprise, but he quickly wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him on top of him. Carlisle ran his mouth along Edward's jaw, feeling the stubble there, fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his scalp.

The boy moaned loudly, arching up into him, and Carlisle slipped a hand between them, sliding fingers down Edward's sternum, to rest on the bulge of his erection. Edward went still, then gasped against his throat, as Carlisle began to stroke up and down. The young man pushed slender hips up into Carlisle's hand and pressed his mouth to his neck to keep from yelling out.

"So good," Edward purred, hands slipping down to grasp and clutch at Carlisle's shoulders. "Right there...yes more...Car-oh..."

Then Edward let out a long breath, eyes wide, before tensing and shuddering underneath him.

The young man was beautiful when he came, and Carlisle smiled, drinking in the sight, before sitting up again.

Edward leaned back, his head resting against the wall, face flushed and hair in even more disarray than usual. He breathed deeply, a lazy smile on his face, apparently unconcerned with the damp stain, darkening the front of his pants.

"Now can we leave?" Carlisle whispered, still painfully aroused.

"Yes."

OoOoO

Weeks slid by blissfully. Carlisle spent most evenings in Edward's cafe, and Edward spent most nights in Carlisle's bed.

They hadn't had sex though. Edward, much to Carlisle's private pleasure, was rather inexperienced. And, despite the boy's increasingly persuasive attempts to convince him otherwise, Carlisle was reluctant to take his virginity.

One afternoon, however, Edward leaned over Carlisle's shoulder to whisper in his ear. "I think we should fuck. Tonight." Carlisle, who was marking papers at his usual corner table, nearly spat out his tea.

"What on earth for?" he managed after several seconds.

Edward rolled his eyes. "Should I draw you a chart? Or, I know. A list. I'll make you a list."

And without another word, the boy returned to his post at the cash register.

Ten minutes later, Edward slipped a scrap of paper on top of the lab report Carlisle was grading. There, scrawled quickly in blue ink, was the list.

You're sexy as hell.

My virginity is rather overrated.

Imagine how good I'll feel.

I'm exceptionally tired of waiting

I think I'm in love with you.

Carlisle took a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably. He was incredibly hard, and suddenly, for the life of him, he couldn't recall a single reason for waiting.

OoOoO

Once Edward closed, they walked to Carlisle's house together. Winter had gradually (and with a degree of stubbornness) faded to spring, and the night air was calm and mild. They didn't speak, but it was all Carlisle could do not to pull the boy into his arms or take him right there on the deserted sidewalk. Edward seemed to be having similar issues; he walked quickly, hands shoved into his front pockets.

The certainty of what they were about to do hung heavily between them, and the air felt charged with anticipation and excitement.

Edward exhaled sharply as Carlisle unlocked and opened the door; Carlisle's hands were trembling.

Carlisle trailed a finger down Edward's spine, and then there was a mouth, peppering kisses along his cheek, his jaw, his neck.

Somehow they made it into the bedroom, arms entangled, lips pressed hotly together. And when Carlisle laid Edward out on the bed, he (once again) was amazed at how beautiful the young man was.

And for now, for tonight, he was his. It was almost enough to force the air out of his lungs.

They kissed slowly, urgently, tongues sliding against tongues, tracing teeth, lips.

"I want you, Edward," he breathed.

"I know."

Carlisle's fingers moved slowly, undoing the buttons of Edward's shirt. Then hands were at his waist, sliding the worn leather of his belt through buckle and loop. Edward gasped at the catch and pull, and raised his hips, as his pants were pulled down his thighs.

And then he was naked, and he was beautiful.

Their mouths found each other again, and their bodies, followed suit, as Edward fumbled, first with Carlisle's shirt, then trousers; clearly desperate to feel skin on skin.

And when their cocks brushed for the first time, Edward tensed and bit his lip, inhaling sharply between his teeth. But his hips jerked upwards again, then again, seeking contact, pressure, friction. And it was fantastic and maddening and perfect all at once. And Carlisle gasped this time, hips circling harder and harder still, while Edward's tongue licked at his shoulder and collarbone.

He pulled away, and Edward watched, obviously transfixed, as Carlisle removed a small bottle from the bedside table, coated his fingers, warm and slick. "Relax," he breathed, settling between the boy's legs again.

He worked slowly, knowing that his fingers were intrusive, uncomfortable at first, so he was patient and slow. And Edward's eyes were wide, and he gasped...couldn't look away.  Carlisle treasured the images, sensations, emotions completely.

And when Carlisle slid inside him for the first time, face to face, sweat-warmed chest to sweat-warm chest, time seemed to stop...a thread stretched taut, held tight.

Edward tensed, breathed deep, relaxed again.

"Tell me if I hurt you..." Carlisle gasped because he would stop in an instant if Edward needed him to.  But Edward only shook his head, and Carlisle moved, slowly, gently. Perfect, perfect, and real. Edward moaned and twined his legs around him, pulling him closer, closer still. ("Oh God...Oh God...")

They wanted (had) everything.

Edward trembled underneath him, eyes squeezed shut tight. ("Carlisle...") And Carlisle's hand was on his cock (thick and hot), fisting it with each slow thrust.

He drew back, pushed forward smoothly again. In and in. And Edward's green eyes snapped open wide (as if surprised). Carlisle gaze held his, forcing the boy to look, as he thrust again.

Edward cried out as he came, spurting warm and slick over his hand.

It was beautiful, wonderful as the boy shook beneath him, capturing Carlisle's mouth with his own.

And Carlisle slid his tongue against Edward's, pushed forward again, and came and came and came.

OoOoO

The semester was winding down. Edward had only a few days left of classes when he arrived at Carlisle's lab to find shelves bare and boxes stacked everywhere.

"What's this?"

Carlisle turned from his desk, a stack of journals in his arms. "I'm packing, Edward."

Edward closed his eyes, trying desperately to will away the feeling of dread. The truth was there, hovering between them, and it was terrifying and heart clenching and horridly unfair. It made his eyes burn and his chest ache.

"Edward," Carlisle's voice was soft. "You know I am a visiting professor. My term ends this semester."

"Oh."

This was it. He was leaving. It was over.

Edward took several steps backward, flattening his back against the wall. He felt flat, empty, without substance. The fluorescent light of Carlisle's classroom glared, but Edward felt dimmed. The atmosphere was suffocating, claustrophobic.

He took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to clear the pain and spin of the room out of his mind. Nausea rocked his system, and he couldn't remember how to breathe.

"Edward?" Carlisle's voice echoed faintly in his ears. "Tell me what's wrong."

How could he not know?

"I... You're... But I love you," he managed brokenly.

Carlisle looked at him, his expression unreadable.

"Where will you go?" Edward asked after several moments.

"You know, when I first found you, I was certain you were too good to be true," Carlisle spoke softly, carefully. "And then when you wanted me, I thought, certainly, I didn't deserve such happiness." He smiled wistfully. "I couldn't, for the life of me, understand what you saw in me. But there was something there...amazingly, inexplicably. And suddenly you were mine."

Edward held his breath, his world unraveling around him. Was he breaking up with him?

"And everyday," Carlisle continued, "I was sure you would wake up and come to your senses. Realize how incredibly wrong I was for you...and, I'd lose you. But instead—"

"Carlisle," Edward stopped him. "Where will you go?"

"You really do love me," the professor mused.

"You know I do."

"I need to finish my article. Get published if I ever hope to get a tenured position. It's been difficult to continue my research while teaching..."

"What.. What are you saying?"

"I could take some time off. Devote my time entirely to my writing, and—"

"And...?" Edward's heart was fluttering in his chest, but he couldn't...wouldn't get his hopes up.

"And you'll be done with school in a year." He smiled, a warm open smile. "And then we'll see."

Edward exhaled sharply and crossed the room in two long strides. Carlisle enveloped him readily in his strong arms. Edward melted against him, allowing the man's warmth and soothing presence to dissolve around him.

"You'll stay."

"I'll stay."

And he did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlisle stayed late at the cafe one night. (An added scene.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not so much a new chapter as an added scene. When I originally wrote "Stay," I envisioned a section like this. However, I only had 10,000 words and this particular, er, concept proved inessential. Still, the scene needed to be written. Had this chapter been included in the original, it would belong after the last section at the bar, but before the afternoon scene in the cafe where Edward presents his list to Carlisle...

Carlisle stayed late at the cafe one night. It wasn't unusual for him to remain with Edward until he closed. What made this particular evening so extraordinary, however, was the position Carlisle found himself in as soon as the lights were off. Rather than taking Carlisle's hand in his for the walk home, Edward smiled a wicked smile and pushed the older man against the counter.

And so, Carlisle was suddenly leaning against the display case, hands splayed across its cool surface, as his young lover dropped gracefully to kneel at his feet.  
Edward licked his lips (pink tongue darting along just bitten pink flesh) and looked up through dark lashes. His mouth quirked in an almost smile, and his eyes flashed with delight. Even in the dark, those eyes were green (so green - the color of trees in the deepest depths of the forest).

Carlisle held his breath.

The boy's hands were warm against his calves, the back of his knees. But they moved slowly (too slowly), trailing upwards inch by inch.

"Edward!" he hissed, as soon as the young man's intentions became clear. But the impertinent boy merely raised a finger to his lips and whispered "Shush..." before his hands, once again, began that torturous slide up and along the inside of his thighs.

Carlisle was already hard. And Edward smiled when his hands reached his groin, pulling his trousers taut, stretching the material tight across the outline of his erection. "You like this. I knew you'd like this." The boy murmured, fingers skirting the edges of where Carlisle most wanted him to touch.

"I could tell by the way you watch me while I work. You act like you're not paying attention to me, but I know you are. I know you're thinking about me. Thinking about what you'd like to do to me. You've wanted to do this for days and days."

"Longer than than," Carlisle managed through clinched teeth (Please...oh please), as Edward continued to stroke upward.

Carlisle closed his eyes, bit the inside of his cheek, and did not push his hands away.

Then Edward's thumb circled and pressed (just so), and Carlisle couldn't help but moan as fabric rasped against sensitive skin.

One warm palm moved across Carlisle's flat stomach while the other reached for his belt buckle.

"Stop," he whispered. But they both knew he didn't mean it.

Edward wet his lips, a smile playing at the edges, and slid worn leather through metal. Slim fingers teased a trail along Carlisle's waistband, tugged at the zip, and finally (finally) eased his pants down past his hips.

Then Edward leaned forward and took the head of Carlisle's cock into his mouth (slick slide, tongue pressed hard up underneath).

"Oh..." ("Oh yes..."). The sounds dripped off Carlisle's tongue and unfurled in the air before he even realized that he'd breathed them.

And the delicious noises spilling from the boy's lips (even as they wrapped around his cock) were beautiful. They slid along Carlisle's skin, as he twined his fingers through unruly hair.

Carlisle's moaned, a low, spine-curving moan, and Edward continued to make those sweetly obscene sounds.

All sense had leaked out. Carlisle no longer cared about how inappropriate it was that they were in Edward's place of employment. He no longer cared about the possibility that someone walking by outside might see them through the glass. No. His entire world stood poised on a single point: the boy at his feet and that boy's lovely mouth sliding, sliding.

Carlisle breathed out a shattered breath and leaned hard against the counter to keep from sinking to the floor. His throat was dry.

He could not help thrusting (just a little bit) into Edward's perfect mouth.

Edward didn't seem to mind. Rather, he wrapped a hand around the base of Carlisle's cock and rocked back on his heels, sucking hungrily.

In the few short weeks they'd been together (for Carlisle knew the boy has never done this with anyone else), Edward had become exceptionally good at blowjobs.

His hands framed the young man's face, thumbs tracing cheekbones and hollowed out cheeks.

Carlisle pressed his lips together and looked down. Edward's skin looked like milk in the wet moonlight streaming through the cafe's windows. His lips were cherry red (the shape of an O), and Carlisle couldn't pull his gaze away. He was entranced by the movement of Edward's mouth.

But then his eyes drifted down.

The boy's hand was pressed firmly between his legs. And it was rubbing.

And that image alone was enough to push him to the edge (of what he could not define). But he could feel it in his teeth and in his ribs. He was dizzy and dry-mouthed and, yes, there, (oh God) right there...

And then Carlisle was coming and coming. His knees nearly buckled, as spasms of pleasure ripped through his spine. Edward waited until the aftershocks had subsided before releasing him with a messy, wet pop.

Carlisle didn't want to move, couldn't move, wanted to remain in that breathless moment indefinitely.

His bones felt like water as he leaned against the counter, chest heaving, knuckles white.

Edward gazed up at him, swollen lips parted, slick with spit and come. And the sight was so delectable (decadent, debauched), that Carlisle couldn't help but shudder again. He reached out to catch a drop of shiny fluid with his fingertip. Brought it to his mouth.

"You... Now..." Carlisle gasped, refusing to be embarrassed about his lack of coherency.

The boy slithered up Carlisle's legs, until a warm body pressed all along the length of his.

"Let me touch you now."

A flush stained Edward's perfect cheekbones. "Not much point," he mumbled, looking down. "I, you know, already, while I was..." The boy stopped talking, smiled sheepishly, and took the older man's hand in his, guiding it to the front of his pants. Carlisle could feel wetness seeping through the dark denim.

"Oh to be a teenager again," he teased, pulling Edward into his arms.

"I'm not a teenager."

"Close enough," he responded, cupping the boy's chin.

"Pervert."

"Brat."

"Kiss me."

And Carlisle did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another smulet from the "Stay" world.

Edward liked to run. Carlisle didn't understand the appeal (running was a nasty, painful habit, really). But as the boy didn't try to force his unusual predilections on him, the professor could excuse such peculiarities.

One particularly dreadful day, Carlisle was on his couch sipping a good cup of tea and perusing a rather bad article on cell growth when Edward appeared in front of him. He hadn't actually given the boy a key, but Edward was comfortable letting himself in.

Today, it appeared that the young man had actually been running in the rain. He was flushed with exertion but soaking wet and quite shivery too. Foolish boy. Carlisle's brow furrowed in concern.

"Got caught in the rain," Edward explained. Then: "it's cold out today."

Carlisle glanced out the window. It had been raining steadily all afternoon. He considered inquiring as to how, exactly, one went about getting 'caught' in the rain, when it had clearly been raining all along. At the very least, it had been raining before Edward ventured out for his afternoon jog. But the question didn't make it past his lips because the boy had begun shedding layers of rain-saturated clothing.

Carlisle watched as Edward toed off his trainers and peeled off his rather sodden track pants, sliding them down equally damp legs. The boy's briefs soon followed (plain, cotton, black ones that fit snugly and clung to wet skin).

Carlisle set his journal down and stared at the partially nude uni student now dripping a puddle on his living room floor.

"Figured I'd just shower here."

"Naturally."

No additional explanation was offered, nor did Carlisle expect one. Edward had taken to spending quite an exorbitant amount of time there lately. Not that Carlisle minded (quite the opposite really). He didn't even grimace when the long-sleeved tee-shirt landed on the wood floor with a wet, splattery plop. Edward kicked it aside to join the muddy trainers and the sopping bottom half of his discarded track suit.

Once naked, the boy had the audacity to simply turn and walk away, disappearing into the bedroom. Carlisle allowed himself to enjoy the view; Edward had a delightful arse. Then he adjusted himself and went back to his reading. Though, it was hardly his fault that he couldn't concentrate.

Edward returned a few moments later, a stack of clean clothes in his arms. "I'll be in the bathroom," he informed the older man. Carlisle merely nodded and took a sip of tea.

Over the past several weeks, Edward had taken to leaving his things at Carlisle's house. He hadn't actually seen the boy leave anything. Edward had never shown up with a bag to unpack, but his belongings had appeared one after another.

Carlisle had noticed Edward's toothbrush first; it was calmly sharing the cup with his on the washbasin as if it had been there all along (Edward's toothbrush was yellow; Carlisle's was green).  
Then, a day or two later, Edward's razor had appeared, propped innocently against the medicine cabinet.

One morning, after stumbling blindly from the bathroom to the bureau in the dark, Carlisle found himself wearing a pair of Edward's boxers. They were a bit snug and rather garish (decorated with what appeared to be a menagerie of cartoon werewolves). On further investigation, he'd discovered four additional pairs of underpants, two pairs of socks, and a rather impressive array of tee-shirts stashed amongst his own articles of clothing.

He'd slid open the next drawer, then, to find (yes, there under his khakis) a pair of Edward's corduroys nestled next to his wool trousers.

Edward's things had made their way into other areas of the house as well.

Just the previous Saturday, Carlisle had encountered a rather large box of Cocoa Puffs next to his Weetabix on the shelf in the cupboard. He raised an eyebrow at his young lover, as he set both boxes down on the table.

"What?" Edward questioned, filling his bowl with chocolate puffs. "Your cereal tastes like cardboard."

Carlisle refused to be embarrassed about his choice of breakfast products.

Instead, he watched as the boy heaped an obscenely large spoonful into his mouth. Edward closed his eyes and actually moaned, a look of sheer bliss washing over his pale face. Carlisle watched his mouth, his throat as he swallowed. Edward's pink tongue darted out to catch a drop of milk before it slid down his chin (Carlisle did not find the sight erotic).

"That can't be good for you," Carlisle commented, eying the family-sized box that had materialized in his pantry.

"Yeah," the boy managed in between munches. "But it turns the milk chocolatey. See?"

Carlisle rolled his eyes and looked down at his admittedly boring breakfast cereal.

Nearly every room of the house now showed some sign of the boy's presence.

Edward's dirty cups and half-drunk water glasses littered the kitchen counter tops and perched precariously on the bedside table. And the bathroom was full of more wet towels than one person had any reasonable use for. (Carlisle used one towel each morning and hung it neatly on the hook when he was done).

There were stacks of Edward's books lining the walls in the den, and the professor had found solitary paperbacks stashed in every conceivable location (under the pillows, next to the commode, on the washing machine...) Just that morning, Carlisle had nearly injured himself when he sat upon a rather pointy copy of Larry McMurtry's The Last Picture Show wedged unsuspectingly between the couch cushions.

But Carlisle couldn't even bring himself to be upset. He liked the way Edward and his apparently endless stream of possessions were working their way into his life.

He'd even found a purple umbrella with a handle shaped like a duck gracing his umbrella stand. It was decidedly not the professor's umbrella, but when the boy ever used it was a mystery. 

Today was by no means the first occasion on which Edward had splashed and dripped his way around the house.

Edward emerged a few minutes later. Carlisle looked up to see him, framed in the doorway, silhouetted by the brighter light of the bathroom behind him. Carlisle observed him placidly, his journal still open on his lap. Edward had wrapped a towel around his waist, but drops of water still clung to his hair (sticking up in all directions and even more absurd than usual after his shower). His eyes glinted green, and his skin was flushed, from the heat or a rather vigorous scrubbing, Carlisle couldn't be sure.

But he didn't have long to consider the matter, for he was distracted by Edward's expression – a devious smirk that curled pink lips and made Carlisle regard him with a delightful blend of anticipation and uncertainty.

"There's something I'd like to try."

"Oh?"

"Yes. But you can't do it while reading your journal."

Carlisle made a show of thumbing through a few more pages, as if absorbing one or two additional facts, before calmly closing the periodical and placing it on the coffee table.

He waited patiently while Edward observed him from the threshold. As he stood there, that lovely little smirk still securely in place, Carlisle decided that the boy looked not unlike some fey and exotic creature, not entirely real but beautiful and enticing.

Then Edward walked purposefully over to him, pausing at the end of the couch to let the towel fall to the floor at his feet.

Carlisle swallowed a moan. The boy was already hard.

He parted his knees, as Edward settled between them, leaning over, pressing their chests together. His mouth was soft (softer than Carlisle's) and sweet, as their tongues slid hotly together. 

The boy smelled of soap and Edward and...arousal. He rocked back and forth slowly, eyes closed, his erection touching Carlisle's, still covered by two layers of cloth.

Carlisle's breath caught, and his hips arched up into that teasing pressure, as Edward (propped on his elbows above him) gasped and circled his hips again.

Carlisle gripped the boy's hips firmly, guiding him into a steady, rocking rhythm.

But then Edward pulled back, tearing their mouths apart and gasping for breath. "No. Stop. I'll come."

"I know."

"But there's something I want to do more," he panted, moving his hands to the older man's chest.

Edward slid his fingers into the slight V at Carlisle's throat, then bent to press a kiss to his collarbone. Carlisle felt one button slip free, then another. Edward's mouth followed a trail down 

Carlisle's sternum as each new inch of skin was revealed. The boy pushed his shirt open, wet tongue laving at a nipple. Carlisle groaned and twined his fingers through Edward's shower-damp hair, hearing a sigh from somewhere near his hip. His fingertips drifted down to stoke the back of Edward's neck, and the boy shifted, rubbing a cheek against the bulge of Carlisle's erection, before peppering more possessive kisses along the man's abdomen.

His hands were at the fastenings of Carlisle's trousers, but Edward hesitated (he'd never initiated things quite like this before), and Carlisle cupped his chin, forcing the boy to meet his gaze.

He nodded, and Edward smiled (both wicked and shy all at once), but his fingers were fumbling to undo the snap, lower the zip.

"Lift up for me."

Carlisle did, and Edward pulled off his trousers and pants at once.

He gasped at the sight of Carlisle's erection (flushed and ready) and licked his lips. The older man couldn't resist pulling Edward down for one more kiss, as his palm slid over the smooth skin of the boy's lower back.

Edward wriggled closer, moaning as Carlisle teased the crease between his buttocks. Then it was Carlisle's turn to hiss, when he felt that the boy had already prepared himself. Edward smiled against his neck.

"You already—"

"Yeah. I jerked off a bit too. In the shower, you know. Before I...you know."

Carlisle groaned. That explained the boy's eager erection. "I would have liked to watch you do it."

Edward shrugged. "I didn't come though. Figured I would wait for you."

"How considerate of you."

"I thought so," the boy responded with a cheeky grin. "We both know I'm quite capable of coming more than once."

Carlisle couldn't argue with that. While the boy's endurance wasn't exactly stellar, his...recuperative powers were quite impressive.

"Now," the boy whispered, tongue flicking at the shell of Carlisle's ear. "Let me just try something, here." Placing his hands on Carlisle's shoulders, he pushed him back. Carlisle complied, leaning against the cushions.

He was still unprepared, however, when the boy got up on his knees, balancing over Carlisle's cock.

"You want to..."

But Edward touched a fingertip to the other man's lips, shushing him, before grasping Carlisle's cock and shifting, lining himself up. Carlisle's eyes fluttered and almost closed, as the boy sank down on him slowly.

"Keep your eyes open. I want you to watch me," Edward instructed with a shaky breath, lowering himself further. "Oh fuck," he moaned, pausing for a second, before pushing Carlisle in deeper. "So good..."

The boy was beautiful, erotic, deliberate in his movements (shifting his hips, circling, rocking slowly), then lifting up and falling again, moaning until he could hardly breathe.

Carlisle reached out, taking Edward's hands in his, lacing their fingers together, steadying the boy and as rose and fell. He swiveled his hips, and they both groaned. Then Edward flung his untidy head back, squeezing his eyes shut, biting his lips in concentration.

Carlisle ran a hand down the boy's chest, feeling hard planes of muscle under sweat and shower-warmed skin, before wrapping his fingers around Edward's cock.

"Oh yes!" he cried, arching up into his grasp. "Touch me." Edward was breathing harder now, his movements becoming erratic and hurried as Carlisle stroked him.

A shudder racked Edward's thin frame, as his cock spurted over Carlisle's fingers. But he didn't stop moving, even as his body jerked and trembled with pleasure. Carlisle arched his hips up hard, as Edward sank down again. Then Carlisle was coming too, pulling the boy forward and covering his mouth with his own.

"Sometime," Edward panted, "sometime, I want to fuck you...want to be inside of you." The boy's voice was muffled against Carlisle's lips, but he still heard his words, even as he shuddered through his own orgasm.

"Yes," he gasped. "Yes."


	4. Chapter 4

The doorbell rang one afternoon while Edward and Carlisle's were reading at the kitchen table.

Carlisle stood. "That will be Esme. I've got Rose for the weekend."

Edward was uncomfortable; he did not want to intrude on Carlisle's time with his daughter (and he wasn't sure he wanted to meet the professor's ex-wife). But Carlisle made no indication that he should leave, so he followed him out of the kitchen, hanging back in the entryway while the professor answered the door.

Esme was an attractive woman. She was perhaps a few years younger than Carlisle and wore her dark hair in a loose knot. Rosalie Cullen was blonde haired and blue eyed like her father. With dimples, ivory pale skin, and cherry red lips, she was as lovely as any twelve-year-old could be. She bounded into her father's waiting arms, but instantly noticed Edward, eying him curiously.

"Is he another one of your boyfriends, dad?" she asked blatantly, disentangling herself from Carlisle's arms. "He's cute."

"Rosalie!" her mother scolded, as Edward blushed furiously.

"This is Edward Masen, my new assistant. I told you about him. He's been helping me with some of my more complex experiments."

"Surely his job description doesn't require him to work overtime?" Esme asked wryly. "And away from campus too?"

"No, I, er... I don't mind really." Edward offered quickly. "And I was just leaving."

"Oh no, dear," Esme responded. "Don't leave on my account. I didn't mean to be rude." She extended a slender arm, and Edward shook her hand. "I'm Esme Platt Cullen. It's lovely to meet you.   
It's wonderful to see Carlisle's so happy."

Edward frowned a bit at that, clearly confused. Had Carlisle had poor assistants in the past? Or did Esme know what he was really doing at Carlisle's home.

Once Esme left, Carlisle, Edward, and Rosalie sat down to tea – well, Carlisle and Edward did at least. Rose wanted nothing of the sort.

"Absolutely not, dad." He tone indicated that she was used to getting her way. "Edward, I can't believe you drink that stuff. Does father make you?"

"No, I—"

"Or," she continued, leaning in conspiratorially, "do you just drink it to impress him?"

Edward had no idea what to say to that, but Carlisle laughed, producing a soda pop from the pantry to suit Rose's rather refined pallet.

"So, Edward," she began after a few moments, evidently convinced she'd found herself a new confidant. "What do you think of my new dress. Mom bought it for me, and I think it's positively to die for."

"It's beautiful," Edward agreed, feeling a bit awkward. "But you're so lovely, I'm sure you'd make any dress look delightful."

Rose smiled and blushed at the comment, but it was clearly the right thing to say. "So, did dad tell you everything about me?"

Edward looked to Carlisle for support, but the man just smiled and shrugged, so Edward was forced to improvise. "No. Not really. Just that you're an excellent ballerina, and he is very pleased to be back in Chicago and near you. And, knowing your father of course, I knew you'd be very beautiful." Edward stopped short, cheeks hot, when he realized what he'd just implied. But Rose apparently didn't notice (or didn't care) what he thought of her father's good looks.

Edward couldn't help but note the faint pink, staining Carlisle's cheekbones.

"So Edward," Rose continued blithely, "are you sleeping over too?"

It was Edward's turn to blush.

oOoOo

Edward really hadn't intended to stay. But that night (after an encore showing of The Little Mermaid), he found himself lingering outside the guest room as Carlisle tucked Rose in. Edward smiled, as Rose rolled over and fixed her sleep bleary eyes on his. "Dad makes pancakes in the morning," she mumbled against her pillow. "Really good ones."

"I, um..." Edward began, still unsure as to what the etiquette was in such a situation. Would it be horribly inappropriate for him to stay the night? Would Rose realize that there wasn't another guest bed?

"You'll like them," she assured, as Carlisle brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her softly on the cheek.

Once Carlisle had turned off the light and shut the door, he took Edward's hand in his and led the boy down the hall to his own room. Edward hesitated in the doorway, though, and the older man turned to face him.

"What's wrong? Here, look at me," he coaxed, cupping the boy's chin in his hand.

But Edward merely shrugged and looked down again.

"Edward, please," Carlisle asked again. "Tell me."

"It's just...I, well, I don't want to intrude. You know? Rose is here, and I know you don't see her as often as you'd like and, I, um..."

He trailed off, blushing hotly.

"Shush," Carlisle chided, stroking a thumb across the boy's cheekbone. "Listen to me. You're not intruding. You could never intrude. You are part of my family now, too. And Rose will be quite upset if you don't join us for pancakes in the morning."

Edward smiled softly, but he didn't respond. So Carlisle stepped forward, and even though their bodies didn't touch, he could feel the warmth between them.  
"But I—"

"Stop. I want you here. I always want you here. Besides, Rose's room is on the other side of the house."

And Edward no longer had to think about how normal, how natural, how perfect it felt to be in the man's house and in his life (to sit naked on the edge of the bed). Instead he watched as Carlisle knelt between his legs, pulled him closer (fingers hooked round his hips), and pressed an 'I love you' to the inside of a thigh.

And Edward shook ('Oh...oh God') even as Carlisle spread his legs wider and held his hips. Then he pressed his tongue to the tip of Edward's cock before trailing it slowly down. He moaned, but Carlisle just held his hips tighter as his tongue swirled and slid up again.

He pulled away slightly then, and Edward hissed as cool air hit his warm cock. But Carlisle bent his head and opened his mouth again, sliding lips and tongue over the shaft, taking Edward's cock into his mouth, he couldn't help but squirm beneath him.

Edward twisted his fingers in the sheets as he bit his lip and tried not to cry out, tried not to thrust up into Carlisle's throat, tried not to come so soon. His legs crossed behind Carlisle's back, tugging him forward. He was still trembling.

Carlisle chuckled and hummed (his lips still wrapped around him). But Carlisle stopped when Edward's hips jerked again (fingers wound tightly in his hair), and he curled over at the waist.  
"Oh fuck...Car...oh, please, more..."

"No, Edward," he responded, sliding up to lie beside him. "Tonight you wait for me."

And Edward groaned in frustration, as Carlisle kissed a line across his ribs before reaching across to rummage in the bedside cabinet drawer.

Settling behind Edward once again, Carlisle stretched out on his side and pulled him close (chest to back, hips to hips). He took his time, smoothing his hands over pale skin, pressing his mouth to the tendon between neck and shoulder. Edward writhed at the touch, twisting to capture the other man's lips with his own. "Please, Carlisle. I want...I need you to fuck me now..."

"Need, hmm?" he asked, amusement leaking into his voice. But he squirted lube onto the jut of Edward's hip, smiling when Edward winced at the cold. Sliding a finger through it, Carlisle swirled small circles in the small of his back, clearly enjoying the way Edward's body arched at the slick contact.

"Please," he tried again, and Carlisle dragged some more lube down from his hip, teasing his fingertip between his cheeks before pressing it up, sliding it in.

And Edward exhaled (his eyes fluttering shut) when Carlisle added another finger, preparing him slowly (too slowly), as he shook and groaned and pushed back on his hand.

"Now. I'm ready now," he gasped, tugging at Carlisle's wrist.

Carlisle watched, coating his cock, as Edward bent his knee upward, securing it in the crook of his arm. Then Carlisle held his hip, breathing deep and pushing in (one slow slide that forced the air from Edward's lungs and made Carlisle bite his cheek to regain control).

"God yes...right there"

Edward was tight, but Carlisle fit perfectly (as always). And Carlisle, still grasping his hip, slid the other arm beneath Edward's body to wrap around his chest, pressing his palm to Edward's skin. Then he pulled back and thrust in again.

Carlisle moaned (a lovely sound) and Edward twisted impossibly back to kiss him. His hips rocked with each thrust, pushing back as Carlisle pushed in, and his hand clutched at Carlisle's forearm, fingers pressing in, holding tight.

And Carlisle tried to slow down a bit (he didn't want this to be over too soon). But Edward moaned out a 'no...faster...more' and tugged Carlisle's hand down to close fingers around his cock. 

And he thrust up into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut tight, biting his lip, and spurting warm all over his own belly and Carlisle's hand.

The sight was sexy and beautiful and suddenly far too much, as Edward clenched around Carlisle's cock. And Carlisle came, kissing him again and shuddering through his own orgasm.

Afterward, they lay shaking and tangled in sex-warmed sheets. Carlisle smiled when Edward took his hand, laced their fingers together. "You meant it, right? What you said?" he whispered, trying not to hope.

Carlisle turned on his side, furrowed his brow, and looked like it was difficult to remember much of anything at all, much less what he might have meant.

But Edward repeated softly, "you meant it, what you said? That you love me. And that I'm part of your family too."

Carlisle brushed a fingertip across his cheek. "Of course. Now come here," he responded, pulling him close, wrapping the comforter around them both, feeling Edward's heart beat against his chest.

And just before they drifted off to sleep (arms wrapped securely around Edward's waist), Edward heard the man mumble, "so glad you stayed..."

"Me too." Me too...


	5. Chapter 5

"Wear something nice tonight. I'll pick you up after my class."

Edward looked up. The café was empty, aside from himself and Carlisle. He'd opened that morning, and Carlisle had walked to work with him. Now he sat and read the morning paper over his usual cup of tea while Edward readied the café for the day's business.

"Pick me up?"

"Yes. I have a reservation for eight o'clock. I'd like to take you out to dinner."

"To dinner?" Edward twisted his rag between his hands. Carlisle watched his pale fingers move against the damp cloth. "As in, on a date?"

Carlisle smiled. "Yes. A date."

Edward bit his lip but didn't respond.

"What?" Carlisle folded his paper and placed it on the tabletop beside his cup. "What's wrong?"

Edward looked down. "Nothing."

Carlisle wasn't convinced. They'd been out together before, of course. But he realized that he'd never taken the boy out in an 'official' capacity. He hoped to rectify that fact tonight.

"It's just… It's nothing. Dinner sounds nice."

Carlisle stood. He framed the boy's face in his hands. "It will be."

oOoOo

Edward turned his water glass around. It left a wet ring on the white tablecloth. He looked lovely (crisp button-down shirt tucked in to pressed khaki pants), but he'd fidgeted all evening and had hardly touched his food.

"Here, have some more wine," Carlisle offered, filling his glass. Edward stared at the pale gold liquid but did not drink.

Carlisle took a bite of fish. The sea bass was excellent. The boy had ordered the fillet (medium rare) with a side of spinach but had only 'hmmed' when Carlisle inquired as to its taste.

Edward traced the rim of his wine glass with his thumb.

"Did something happen today?"

"What? Oh, no. Nothing happened."

"You seem distracted."

Edward frowned, twisting the wine stem between his fingers. "I'm fine."

Carlisle set his fork down and reached across the table to take Edward's hand in his.

The boy flinched, glancing nervously to one side and then the other, but did not pull away. Carlisle stroked his thumb across the back of the boy's hand. Edward chewed on his lip and looked down, watching the man's fingertip slide across his knuckles.

"Edward, look at me. What's wrong?"

"It's just," he lowered his voice, looking to the side again. "Everyone can see us."

Carlisle turned to glance over his shoulder, wondering what on earth he was talking about. The restaurant was quiet and intimate; the surrounding tables were filled with couples (much like themselves) enjoying a nice evening out. No one was looking at them; the other guests were too focused on their own meals, their own dates to pay them any attention at all.

Carlisle looked back at the boy. "I don't know what you mean."

"They know we're together."

The man looked confused. "Of course we're together."

Edward blushed. "No. Not like that. Together, together."

Suddenly Carlisle understood. They'd been out many times before, but it had always been casual - situations and places where they could be seen as colleagues, friends. Here, in this intimate setting, it was quite clear that their relationship was romantic. Something cold clenched in Carlisle's stomach. "Are you embarrassed?"

"No." Edward looked down. "Of course not."

The man didn't understand. Edward's friends knew he was gay. He didn't broadcast his preference, but he had never seemed ashamed of it before. It seemed odd that he would be self-conscious now.

"Is it because I'm so much older than you?"

Edward narrowed his eyes. "Of course not," he repeated.

The man nodded. That, too, had seemed unlikely. After all, Edward had been the one to insist all along that their age difference didn't matter. Still, something was clearly making him uncomfortable.

"Then what is it?" Carlisle slid his fingers along the boy's narrow wrist.

Edward sighed, catching Carlisle's hand in his. "People disapprove. That's all."

The man took a slow breath. "No one disapproves."

Edward said nothing.

"And, even if they did, it wouldn't matter anyway."

oOoOo

"When I was twelve, my mother caught me masturbating."

Carlisle chuckled.

Edward shuddered dramatically. They were in bed together, wrapped in Carlisle's white sheets. Edward's legs twined between the older man's.

"It happens to the best of us," Carlisle said, pressing his mouth to Edward's hopeless hair.

"Yes. But I doubt you were watching reruns of My So-Called Life at the time."

"No, I can't say that I was." The man turned toward him. "My so-called what?"

"My So-Called Life." The boy shifted closer to Carlisle, skin warm against skin. "It was this 90s teen-drama, starring Jared Leto. I tried to tell my mother I was watching Claire Danes, but I had the screen paused."

Carlisle laughed again and trailed his finger along Edward's clavicle to dip into the v at his throat. The boy shivered at the light touch. "Yes. Perhaps that would have given it away."

Edward sighed; Carlisle felt his chest rise and fall underneath his palm. "He did have lovely eyes, though." The boy turned his face up to look at the other man. "Blue. Not unlike yours."

The man smiled and ran a hand through Edward's hair; the boy liked to be petted.

"My mother always knew, I think," Edward said after several long moments. "That I was gay." He turned his head; his lips were warm against Carlisle's throat. "She knew, but it was okay. I was her only child, after all."

"Edward," Carlisle spoke softly. "There is nothing wrong with our preferences." He kissed the boy's jaw. "It's simply that: a preference."

"I know that." Edward slid his foot against Carlisle's calf; his toes were cold. "But that doesn't make it right, either."

The older man stiffened slightly against him.

Edward looked up at him, brow furrowed. "Well, right or not right, it still doesn't make it normal."

Carlisle didn't know what to say. But he understood, then. While Edward's mother had never explicitly objected to her son's sexuality (she loved him, of course), she did view it as an aberration. His desires, in her eyes, though not condemnable, were still rather unfortunate.

And it would take time for Edward to ever be truly comfortable with what he…with what they had together.

oOoOo

Edward could kiss for a seemingly endless amount of time.

His lips were warm and soft, his mouth wet and open against Carlisle's. The man shifted, twisting his fingers in Edward's hair and holding the boy's head still while his tongue traced lips and teeth and tongue.

Edward moaned and pressed himself impossibly closer to the older man, tongue lapping eagerly, wetly against his.

If it weren't for the insistent poke of an erection, Carlisle might have thought the boy had never before imagined doing anything other than kiss. Edward rolled his hips again, and Carlisle groaned, sliding a hand down the boy's back to the curve of his waist; his fingertips teased at warm skin, danced along the small of his back, circled a hipbone.

Carlisle pressed his mouth to Edward's throat, feeling the flutter of his pulse against his lips. He parted his legs a bit so the boy's cock could slip between them.

"Oh…yes…right there…" Edward sighed breathlessly, rubbing against him. "That's good."

"Good," the man murmured. "Can you come like that?"

"I…yes." Edward moaned louder and thrust his hips again before clutching at Carlisle's wrist to bring his hand up to his lips.

"But what about you?"

"I'm fine." Carlisle shuddered as the boy sucked his fingertip into his mouth. Then he smiled at the young man, twined ivy-like around his limbs. "I'd like to think that one of us can still exercise a semblance of control at times."

The boy stilled his hips. Even in the dim light of the room, Carlisle could see the flush that crept along the pale skin of Edward's throat, his chest.

Carlisle chuckled. "I didn't mean that as a challenge."

Edward shrugged but rolled over, settling back against Carlisle's warmth (chest to back, thighs to thighs). The man slipped his hand down to stroke Edward through the thin material of his sleep pants, but the boy batted his hand away.

"No. It's fine," he sighed, squirming a bit. His voice was tinged with frustration but still heavy with sleep. Carlisle settled his hand against Edward's abdomen instead, tracing lines on the smooth skin of his stomach.

"It will be better in the morning this way."

Carlisle couldn't disagree.

oOoOo

Carlisle woke to a soft sound, as Edward shifted beside him.

He was lying on his stomach, and he was asleep (dark lashes fluttering against pale cheeks). But this was not what caught the older man's attention. Edward's hips were moving, grinding into the mattress. Carlisle couldn't stop the want that coiled in his belly and twisted around his hips.

He felt himself harden and tried not to moan at the sight. His breath caught at the lovely, muted noises that spilled from the boy's lips as he moved in his sleep.

"Oh…oh yes," Edward breathed into the pillow, hips still rubbing against the sheets. The blanket had slipped down to reveal the pale expanse of his back (skin the color of milk).

Carlisle wanted to drag his tongue along the curve of the boy's spine. He pressed a hand between his thighs and held his breath (tried to stay still, tried not to make a sound), as he watched Edward's wet dream unfold beside him.

He wanted to know what the boy was dreaming about, what fantasies his mind played out in his sleep.

Suddenly Edward's breath hitched, and his hips lifted slightly as he shuddered and shook. Carlisle bit the inside of his cheek, fought desperately to stave off the rush of pleasure that throbbed through his own veins and threatened to overwhelm him.

"Oh God…" the man whispered, but it was enough.

Edward's head shot up, startled by the soft sound. Then he smiled lazily up at Carlisle, eyes clouded with sleep and arousal.

"Did you come?" the man's voice was not his voice. It was too rough, too breathless.

"No."

Edward rolled over. His gray pajama pants hung low on narrow hips; they were tented to reveal his evident hardness, and there was a small, wet spot that had soaked through the material. 

Carlisle wanted to trace it with his tongue.

The boy's breath caught, as he watched Carlisle's eyes slip down his body.

"What were you dreaming about?"

The boy looked down, bit his lip. "You."

Even in the moonlit room, Carlisle could see the blush that splashed his cheeks.

"I want you."

The man took a deep breath. "What do you want, Edward?"

"I…I want to fuck you."

The words unfurled between them, slid along Carlisle's skin, twisted between his fingers, spiraled through his limbs. Sleep and erotic dreams must have made the boy bold; he'd only ever asked for that once before.

"Okay." Carlisle's voice was low, barely a whisper.

"Okay?"

"Yes."

"Oh…oh God…" Edward shifted his hips; Carlisle could see the outline of his erection through the thin material of his pants.

Carlisle leaned closer, hooked his fingers in the waistband of the boy's pajamas. Edward held his breath, lifted his hips, and watched as the man slid them down and off. Carlisle's own pants followed.

Edward was trembling as Carlisle reached across to rummage in the bedside cabinet. The jar of lubricant was achingly familiar against his palm, but just the sight, the weight of it this time was nearly enough to make him come.

"Hold out your hand. You have to get me ready."

The boy groaned but complied readily, watching the liquid drip between his fingers.

"One first, slowly… Oh, right there. Perfect. Now another."

Edward watched his fingers move, as if fascinated. "You're so hot like this."

Carlisle groaned, shifted his hips. The intrusion felt odd, uncomfortable at first; he wasn't used to it, but gradually he relaxed, opened against the boy's fingers. "Okay. Now slick yourself."

Edward smoothed the liquid down his cock quickly, as if touching too long would end things too quickly.

"Are you sure?" His voice shook, as he lined himself up.

"Yes." He was sure, and wasn't that the most amazing thing?

The boy paused, lips pursed in concentration, then pushed in.

One slick, slow slide.

"Oh…Oh God, Carlisle…" 

The press of his cock was painful at first, but the look of pleasure on Edward's face was enough to mute the hurt. 

His hands clutched at Carlisle's hips so hard there would be bruises, but he didn't care. The sensation was overwhelming, and he groaned as he submitted to, welcomed the strangeness. The pleasure (razor-edged with pain) and the feeling of fullness were exquisite.

He rocked his hips as the boy thrust forward, and then Edward's cock was so fully, so tightly inside of him that he was certain he could feel the his pulse.

Edward was sweating, his thin chest flushed and slick, his hair sticking to his temple, his forehead. Carlisle's own cock, which had softened slightly at the initial intrusion was beginning to harden again, curving upward toward his belly.

Edward snaked his small hand between them, curling his fingers tentatively around him, as his hips snapped against Carlisle's.

"Again," Carlisle gasped, pushing back against the boy's thrusts.

Carlisle knew it would be quick; Edward was already shaking above him ('fuck…oh fuck'), and suddenly he wanted nothing more for the boy to spend himself inside of him.

Edward moaned and arched his back, eyes shut in concentration. His thighs began to tremble.

"God yes, fuck me Ed," the man hissed. "I want to feel you when I walk tomorrow."

"Oh...I can't. I'll come," he cried out, head thrown back, stomach muscles clenching. And Edward thrust once more, hips jerking, and Carlisle felt the warmth flood his insides as Edward came.

The boy seemed to go boneless on top of him then, collapsing against the older man with a contented sigh. Carlisle pressed a kiss to his damp hair, breathing in the sweaty sweet scent of him. He groaned as the boy slipped out of him, suddenly feeling too empty.

Edward looked dazedly at the older man, mouth parted, cheeks flushed. "That was…" But then his eyes fell between them, taking in Carlisle's still very eager erection. "You're still, you need…"

The boy shifted, moved against the other man as if to slide down, take him in his mouth, but Carlisle stopped him (a hand on his shoulder). "No. Lean back."

Edward bit his lip, furrowed his brow but complied, rolling over against the pillows. Carlisle straddled his hips, fingers curling loosely around his prick. "I want to come on you."

Edward groaned. "Please."

And then Carlisle moved his hand, fingers stroking lightly. Edward licked his lips, parted his mouth, watched.

Carlisle was shaking.

Edward skated his palms down Carlisle's sides. Then he was shuddering, gasping, coming on Edward's stomach, his chest.

Carlisle took a deep breath, chest rising and falling, and dragged his thumb across Edward's abdomen, reaching up to smear the bitter salty sweet fluid against his lips.

Edward sucked his finger into his mouth. He was hard again. Carlisle looked down and raised an eyebrow, but Edward shook his head, pulling the man down beside him.

"Maybe I'll have another dream."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written one year after I originally completed "Stay," and the last chapter in the series.

Edward hadn't stopped fidgeting.

He looked lovely, of course, in gray dress pants and that striped button-down Carlisle had purchased for him (just the right shade of green to match his eyes). But he was clearly uncomfortable, propped awkwardly against the bar, fingers tugging absently at one cuff of his pressed shirtsleeve.

"Here, drink this," Carlisle instructed, sliding a glass of wine across the smooth marble surface.

The boy picked up the glass but did little more than stare into the pale gold liquid before setting it down again.

"Edward," he said softly, reaching out to brush a fingertip along the back of his hand. "It will be all right."

"I know," he responded, but his voice wavered slightly. "It's just…" He looked up at Carlisle then, uncertainty marring his lovely face. "I care about what she thinks."

"Of course you do," he assured, twining their fingers together. "And it will be all right."

Edward smiled, but it was clearly forced. "Maybe I should drink some wine."

"Yes," Carlisle agreed. He took a deep breath. It had been his idea, of course, inviting Elizabeth Masen to dinner. It was only right that he meet the young man's mother. And he'd tried for months to get Edward to agree. But every time he suggested it, Edward had come up with one reason or another as to why they shouldn't.

But the previous Monday (in Carlisle's kitchen over cups of black tea), Edward had finally agreed to dinner.

Carlisle had, yet again, broached the topic of Edward giving up his apartment when the lease ran out. It was foolish, he thought, for the boy to spend money he hardly had on a place he rarely occupied. But Edward had, until then, refused to even consider the matter.

It was the first time he hadn't immediately dismissed Carlisle's suggestion that they move in together.

Instead (with a resigned sigh and a rather grim expression on his face) he said, "I suppose you really should meet my mother."

So now they stood together in the crowded bar of Harry Caray's, waiting for Elizabeth to arrive. Carlisle had let Edward choose the restaurant. Personally, he thought the place was rather ridiculous. But he made the mistake of bringing him once, and Edward had fallen in love with the outlandish display of memorabilia. The steak, at least (Carlisle had to admit) was quite good.

At first, he had offered to cook a meal and invite Edward's mother to his home, thinking (perhaps) that he would feel more comfortable in private. But the boy had balked at the idea, citing a dozen reasons why his mother would know that he was practically living there.

Carlisle found the concerns a bit silly, considering the fact that Edward would actually be living there quite soon, but he didn't argue.

Harry Caray's it was.

Edward tensed beside him, spilling some of his wine. He shook it off his fingers; Carlisle dabbed up the mess with a cocktail napkin, grimacing when the boy wiped his damp hand on his now not-so-clean trousers. But he couldn't offer any words of reproof because Edward was turning away from the bar with a whispered "she's here."

Carlisle took another deep breath. Well, he had asked for this.

He left a few bills on the bar for their drinks and followed his young lover back through the crowd toward the restaurant's entrance to where Elizabeth Masen stood.

Edward stopped a few feet from the woman as if unsure of what to do. Carlisle stood behind him watching, waiting.

She was quite lovely (though, of course, with Edward's fey features and striking beauty, he hadn't expected otherwise). She wore her reddish blonde hair in a loose braid coiled about her head, and Carlisle couldn't help but note that her eyes were exactly the same shade of green as her son's

Edward, meanwhile, was not looking at his mother at all. Instead he was staring down rather awkwardly at his shoes. Carlisle wondered if he should say something. But, before he had the chance, Edward jerked his head up again, and he appeared to come to a decision.

He took a hesitant step forward and raised his arms to pull his mother into an affectionate (if uncoordinated) hug. "It's good to see you, mom," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"You too, baby," she responded, rubbing a hand down his back. "You too." And, for the first time, she looked past her son to fix a critical stare on Carlisle.

Though his stomach clenched at the clear scrutiny, he managed a smile, and her eyes softened slightly. Carlisle was (suddenly, uncomfortably) very much aware of his own age, aware that the woman – Edward's mother – was actually a few months younger than he was. But, of course, he'd known that since the inception of their relationship.

He took a deep breath, resisted the urge to run a nervous hand through his hair, and waited for Edward to make introductions.

After a few moments, he pulled away from his mother's embrace and looked over his shoulder (bottom lip caught between straight, white teeth). "Um, mom," he began rather shyly, stepping back to stand beside Carlisle.

The man placed a reassuring hand on the small of his back.

Edward glanced up at him before continuing: "Mom, this is Dr. Carlisle Cullen. My, er, boyfriend."

Oh Lord. Edward sounded painfully young. And it was all Carlisle could do not to cringe at the term he chose to describe their relationship.

Boyfriend. It seemed trite (school boy crush) and entirely insufficient to describe what they had. But he managed another smile and extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Elizabeth Masen," she said, taking his hand. "The pleasure is mine, Dr. Cullen."

"Carlisle, please."

"Carlisle," she repeated, ruffling Edward's hair.

He ducked out of her reach, an adorably embarrassed expression on his face.

"Shall we sit?"

They both nodded, and Carlisle followed behind as the hostess led them to their table.

"How have you been, Ed?" Elizabeth asked, once they'd been seated.

"I've been fine." The boy looked at Carlisle then (a faint blush seeping onto pale cheeks). "I've been really good actually."

Carlisle smiled.

His mother looked rather uncomfortable. She took a sip of water. "I see." Her voice was flat, curt.

It was certainly not the reaction Edward was clearly looking for. He frowned. "You've been well." It wasn't really a question, but his mother nodded anyway.

"And how is Tom?" he asked after several long moments. His gaze was fixed on his mother, but his eyes were carefully blank, cold.

Carlisle tensed when he realized that Edward was referring to Elizabeth Masen's boyfriend. The man who had treated him so cruelly.

She twisted her napkin between her hands. Clearly the question made her uneasy (as well it should, Carlisle couldn't help but think).

"Actually, I wouldn't really know." She looked down and then up again, green eyes holding Edward's glare.

Carlisle took a sip of wine. Resisted the urge (yet again) to reach out and touch the young man seated beside him.

"You see," Elizabeth continued when it was clear Edward wasn't going to respond. "We're taking a bit of a break. I…" She looked down once more. "I suppose I just need some time. Some time to think things over."

Edward was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I'm glad."

Carlisle was impressed by how calm he sounded. He said nothing.

His mother frowned. "Well, I'm not sure it's a good thing," she quickly added a bit defensively. "And I still wish you hadn't stormed out of dinner quite like you did that night. I mean, Edward—"

Carlisle had to cut her off. "Elizabeth," he said firmly. Both mother and son looked at him, startled at the interjection; he'd said very little since they'd sat down. But he continued, voice low and clear. "Your boyfriend hurt Edward very much that night. He had every right to leave."

"Perhaps he was a bit…unkind," she responded, clearly a bit flustered, "But—"

"No." Carlisle repeated. "There is no excuse for what he did, for what he said."

Although he looked rather surprised, Edward smiled, a slight curve of pink lips.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and clasped her hands together. Everyone seemed to understand how significant her response would be; after all, she was making a choice. Finally, she looked at her son. "You're right. I'm sorry Edward."

The boy nodded. It was a start.

Carlisle took the liberty of ordering a bottle of wine (a lovely Petit Syrah he knew Edward would like; God knew, he needed it).

Elizabeth ordered a vodka tonic.

He shrugged, motioning for the waiter to fill Edward's glass and then his own.

His mother actually pursed her lips, as Edward took a small sip. "Well," she said, "I suppose you are twenty-one now." Her eyes darted to Carlisle. Somehow, however, she managed not to inquire as to his age, though it was quite obvious she wanted to.

Carlisle did not roll his eyes. Instead, he smiled and placed a hand on the boy's knee.

Elizabeth Masen did not miss the gesture. Her eyes widened slightly before she lifted her water glass to her lips and schooled her expression.

Edward glanced timidly at Carlisle.

It was going to be a long meal.

"So, Carlisle," Elizabeth said once they had placed their orders. "Edward tells me you met at his café."

He nodded.

"And what do you do?"

"I teach. Biology."

Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully but said nothing.

"I was a visiting professor at Northwestern this last year," he added, sliding a fingertip along the rim of his wine glass. "That's how I met Edward."

His mother frowned slightly. "You took Biology, honey?"

"No, no," the boy corrected quickly. "Carlisle never actually taught me. He just spent time at the café after class, grading papers and such."

"Oh." Elizabeth looked down, folding and unfolding her napkin. "That's good then."

Carlisle smiled at the young man; his pale fingers were tracing patterns on the white linen tablecloth.

"But visiting," the woman said after a few moments, propping an elbow on the tabletop. "Does that mean your term is up, or will you teach another year?"

"No. It was a one-year position," he answered.

"Oh. I see."

Carlisle couldn't help but think she was pleased. But she hid the small smile expertly behind her cocktail glass.

Edward was no so discrete. He glared openly. Carlisle resisted the urge to kick him under the table.

"So where will you go now?" Elizabeth inquired, clearly interested.

"Hoping for somewhere far, far away?" Edward cut in before the man had a chance to answer.

Carlisle squeezed his thigh (hard), but the young man only turned his glare on him. "What? It's true."

"Edward, that's not what I meant…" the woman tried.

"It's okay, mom. He's not going anywhere."

Elizabeth Masen frowned but said nothing.

"It was better for my career," Carlisle tried before Edward could say anything else, "to not take another position next term." He took a sip of wine before continuing. "I need to finish the article I'm writing, get published. Then I will be able to find a more permanent position."

Edward smiled.

Carlisle took a steadying breath and pushed on. "And Edward is thinking about applying to graduate school, pursuing a Masters degree and teaching certificate. So, in a year, we'll see."

Elizabeth Masen's eyes were fixed steadily on her son. "You're considering applying to the same universities," she finally said, realization dawning.

Carlisle thought she'd caught on a bit quicker than, perhaps, she wanted to.

Edward flushed and looked down, but he nodded.

His mother, if anything, went a bit pale. But somehow she managed a small smile. "That's lovely," she said, but the words were clearly forced. "I had no idea things were so…serious."

The waiter appeared with their meals, and they sat in awkward, painful in silence. Carlisle knew his steak was cooked perfectly, yet it still tasted of ash in his mouth.

Edward wasn't eating. He'd selected the filet (medium rare) with a side of spaghetti. Carlisle knew it was one of his favorites, but he'd barely touched it. Elizabeth Masen watched her son closely, and Carlisle knew she was also watching him watch Edward.

He wanted to tell the boy to eat. He wanted to take a roll from the basket and butter it for him. He wanted to reach over and take Edward into his arms, pet his hair, tell him he loved him, tell him everything would be all right.

But, of course, he did none of those things.

He knew it was important for Edward to reveal the intricacies of their relationship to his mother on his own terms. He certainly didn't want to do or say something that would make the boy more uncomfortable, something that his mother could interpret as inappropriate.

Carlisle, himself, had never felt more on display. It was an odd feeling, really. He was older than the woman, but yet he felt like he were a schoolboy again, seeking permission, asking approval to date his crush.

He would have laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation, if he weren't intensely aware of Edward's discomfit and concern.

He refilled his wine glass and then Edward's; Elizabeth's critical gaze followed his movements. He sighed.

"You know what, honey," Elizabeth said, placing her fork on the side of her plate. "I spoke with Jessica Stanley's mother the other day."

Edward narrowed his eyes, took a long sip of wine, said nothing.

"You remember Jessica, don't you?" his mother continued. "Delightful girl. You had such a crush on her in grade school."

The young man drummed his fingers on the tabletop and stared coolly at his mother.

"Well, anyway, she's coming into town next weekend, and I thought it would be nice if you called her up, offered to take her out to dinner or something." She looked at Edward hopefully. "I think she really might enjoy that, and her mother—"

"I can't," he said abruptly, cutting her off. "Carlisle and I are going to Milwaukee. I've never been, you know. And the Cubs are playing the Brewers."

"Oh," she said simply.

Carlisle hid his surprise behind a sip of wine. They'd made no such plans. But a road trip sounded like a lovely idea. They'd never traveled anywhere together before.

"And you can take the time off work, Ed?" Elizabeth asked after a few moments.

He nodded.

"Don't you need the money?"

Edward shrugged, but then narrowed his eyes slightly. "Actually, I'm thinking about giving up my apartment."

At that, his mother's eyes widened; she was clearly startled. "But what will you do?" She paused, then understood. "Oh. Oh, I see…" she trailed off, fingering the ring she wore on her index finger.

"We will need to talk about this, of course." She glanced at Carlisle.

It was all he could do to remain silent, though it irritated him that her first impulse was to treat him like a child.

Edward said nothing; he twirled a bite of spaghetti around his fork.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Frankly, I'm just not certain I can approve."

"Pardon?" at that, Carlisle had to interrupt.

The woman scowled at him but continued to twist the ring on her finger. "You must understand," she said, "this is a private matter. One my son and I will discuss at a later time."

Carlisle shook his head (doing his best to fight the anger twisting in his gut). "You're right," he finally said softly, though his voice was laced with deliberate fierceness. "This is a private matter. A private matter between Edward and myself."

Elizabeth huffed and made to protest, but he continued. "Your son is an adult. He has been supporting himself for over three years now, and, I am sorry, but I hardly see how his living arrangements concern you."

Carlisle noted the color rising in her pale cheeks.

Edward stared rather defiantly, as if challenging her to say something else in objection.

But his mother simply took long sip of her drink before looking around for the waiter. She signaled for another cocktail.

Carlisle drained his wine and frowned at the empty bottle.

"Well," Elizabeth said a bit curtly, "as long as you've considered all the consequences and implications of such a decision."

Edward opened his mouth but closed it again quickly, biting his lip to keep the (no doubt inflammatory) words from slipping out. He took a sip of water, set the glass down again carefully, and pressed his palms to the tabletop. "Yes. I…we have."

Carlisle was pleased with his calm reply; he placed a hand on his thigh, smoothed a thumb along the soft fabric of his dress slacks.

Elizabeth frowned a bit. She seemed to have been expecting an argument. But then she nodded and reached across the table to brush her finger along the back of Edward's hand. He did not pull away.

"That's good then."

The boy smiled. "It is."

Afterward, they went to the bar. Carlisle thought it best to distract Edward a bit after a no doubt disquieting dinner. The sat side-by-side on the worn barstools, his young lover's thigh pressed warmly to his own.

They said little; Carlisle watched the flickering shadows play across Edward's face, darkening his eyes, highlighting lovely cheekbones. He was mildly concerned (though not surprised) when the boy seemed to drink the cheap wine Bella poured a bit more quickly than usual. But he simply placed a hand on Edward's knee and left him to his thoughts.

A while later, Edward drained the last of his wine (his third; Carlisle had been counting) and stared down at the crimson ring circling the bottom of the glass. Then he looked up at the man for the first time. His cheeks were flushed from alcohol and warmth (a rosy pink), but his eyes were sad. Still, he smiled. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Hmm?" Carlisle asked, reaching out to trace a thumb along the boy's jaw, encourage him to hold his gaze.

"Thank you," he said again. "For forcing me to eat dinner with my mother."

He chuckled softly, and Edward's smile brightened (a soft curve of lips).

"You know," the boy continued after a few moments, "I think, despite everything, she couldn't help but like you."

It was Carlisle's turn to smile. He took Edward's hand in his, laced their fingers together.

"I mean, she was horrified to realize that we might actually be sleeping together, and I know she was dying to ask how old you are, but I think she liked you." He paused and shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure how you do it, you know," he murmured, only slurring the words a bit. "Make everyone like you."

"She realized that you were happy, Ed," the man responded, brushing the hair back from Edward's forehead. "She just wants you to be happy."

"Mmm," he said noncommittally, swaying forward slightly toward the man. His breath was warm against Carlisle's cheek and smelled of wine (rich and tangy sweet). "Everyone likes you," he said again, tilting his head to touch his mouth to Carlisle's neck. "I like you."

"Yes," Carlisle said, pulling back slightly, but the boy only leaned in closer, lips sliding a bit wetly along his throat.

"I have to piss," Edward announced suddenly, mouth still pressed to Carlisle's skin.

At that the man laughed loudly and, putting his hands on Edward's shoulders, forced him upright. "Why am I not surprised?"

He shrugged but managed to stand (albeit ungracefully) without spilling anything or knocking over his stool.

Carlisle followed him into the restroom. He wouldn't have, usually; they always respected one another's privacy. But Edward was rather drunk and didn't appear too steady on his feet.

He was standing at the washbasin, leaning forward, palms pressed to the cracked porcelain. He looked up as Carlisle entered but said nothing. The man walked around the partition to the urinals and relieved himself. As he was pulling his trousers back together, he felt Edward beside him (a slip of a shadow over his shoulder), and he looked up.

The boy's cheeks colored prettily, and he looked away. "I, um, need to go."

"Naturally," Carlisle responded.

Edward fumbled with his zip and pulled out his cock. The man watched him absently.

Nothing happened.

He looked over his shoulder at Carlisle.

"What?"

"I can't…" Edward looked down at his hand.

Carlisle couldn't help but like the blush that splashed across his face, down his throat, to his collar.

"I can't go," he finally managed softly. "Not with you looking at me like that."

Carlisle raised an eyebrow.

Edward's blush (if possible) deepened. "I'm…I'm getting hard."

The man smiled but moved away (out of sight). After a few moments, he heard a soft sigh and then the steady stream of liquid against the bowl.

Edward emerged, cheeks still delightfully pink, and washed his hands. Carlisle stood, arms folded across his chest, watching him. When he was done, the boy balled up the paper towel and tossed in the bin, but made no move toward the door. "I'm still…a bit…" he faltered, looked down, shoved his now clean hands into his pockets. "Well, you know…"

Carlisle did know. "Using the loo turns you on now?"

Edward scowled. "No. You turn me on."

The man laughed. "A stray breeze could turn you on."

Edward narrowed his eyes but then shrugged. "It's possible." He took a step toward Carlisle. "But it would still be rather awkward to go back to the bar like this." He made a vague gesture with a hand, motioning in the general direction of his groin.

"Rather overdressed for this fine establishment?"

"No." Edward huffed and moved his arm again (the same sweeping motion). "Hard."

Carlisle felt a hint of color warming his own cheeks. "Ah, I see."

The boy nodded but said nothing.

"And what do you propose to do about it?"

Edward moved forward; though they weren't touching, Carlisle could still feel the heat from his body against his skin.

"I thought, perhaps, you could help me out." Edward looked down again. "You know, if you want to." Somehow he managed to look very young and incredibly wanton all at once. He bit his lip then added quickly: "So we can go back to the bar, of course - before Bella notices."

Carlisle felt quite certain that the girl had already noticed their absence, but he'd had (perhaps) one too many drinks to care. He ran his fingertips down Edward's arms lightly, earning a delicate shudder, as green eyes fluttered shut.

"And what," Carlisle refused to be embarrassed by how rough his voice sounded, "would you like me to do?"

Edward's eyes opened again (already dilated and clouded with want). "Touch me."

Carlisle slid a hand down the Edward's chest. The boy held his breath as fingers toyed with his belt buckle. Then Carlisle slipped his palm lower to press against the snug bulge in Edward's pants.

He gasped (wet lips parted slightly) and moved his own hand to cover the older man's. "It won't take long."

No. It usually didn't.

Edward didn't move their hands, but he was rocking his hips gently, pushing himself into Carlisle's fingers. "Oh…oh…" He increased his rhythm, and Carlisle heard the breath catch in his throat.

"It feels good."

The man shifted his fingers, pressing harder and eliciting another gasp from Edward. The boy's other hand came up to clutch at Carlisle's shoulder, pulling him closer. He could feel the warmth of Edward's breath against his throat, as he murmured no doubt mindless things.

"Oh God, yes…don't stop." He was already close. Carlisle could tell by the way the words sounded more like a hiss, the way his breath shuddered and broke.

But suddenly he remembered exactly where they were – in the men's room, standing in front of the washbasin where anyone could just push open the door and—

He stilled his movements; Edward groaned.

"Not here, love."

The boy opened his eyes, an adorably mutinous expression on his face. "Why on earth not?" he managed through rather clenched teeth.

Carlisle gestured to their surroundings.

Edward's answering glare seemed to imply that it was a perfectly appropriate place for such things.

"And," the man tried then, looking down "I'm sure you don't want ruin your good slacks."

Edward rolled his eyes and pressed his own palm to the front of his trousers to rub.

Carlisle allowed himself to enjoy the sight for a brief moment before glancing toward the door again. Then he made an assuredly reckless decision (the boy never failed to impair his ability to think rationally) and quickly maneuvered him around the partition and into the single stall.

Carlisle barely managed to slide the lock before Edward was reaching for him (fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt). His kiss was clumsy (he was, after all, quite drunk). Their teeth knocked, and Edward bit at his lip, but he didn't care because he could feel Edward pressed against him, could taste him in his mouth and on his tongue.

Carlisle's hands were at Edward's waist, undoing his belt, tugging at his zip. Then he pulled back from the kiss to slide dress slacks down over narrow hips.

Edward panted against his neck, as Carlisle slipped a hand down to brush his fingers against his cock (now damp and warm).

"Oh…oh God," Edward breathed, eyes wide and slightly stunned, as he sunk gracefully to his knees. "Just seeing you like that…so hot. I'll, I'll come." He was already shaking, as he looked down at Carlisle.

Carlisle slid his hands up again, lifting the boy's shirt, and licked a line between pale hipbones. He could feel the ripple of firm stomach muscles clenching beneath his tongue.

"Stop teasing me," Edward gasped, and Carlisle looked up to see him shut his eyes and thud his head against the wall (untidy hair glinting in the harsh florescent light).

The man laughed but wrapped his hand around his cock once more, sliding fingers to the base of the shaft, before closing his mouth over Edward's hard prick, taking him in as deeply as he could.

Edward's back arched; he thrust once, twice, a third time and came with a startled cry.

He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of a hand. Edward hadn't moved, but Carlisle could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

"God, you'll have to teach me how to do that some day, Professor," he finally said.

Carlisle couldn't hold back the laugh. "Teach you to do what, precisely?" When the boy made no move to redress himself, he carefully tucked him back into his slacks.

"That," he repeated, rather breathlessly.

"I haven't a clue what you mean." Carlisle laughed again. "As we both know you're quite skilled at sucking me off."

Edward leaned his head back against the stall again and ran his tongue along his lip. If Carlisle wasn't already quite aroused, the sight alone would have done it.

"Yeah. But I've never managed to get you off so quickly."

The man smiled and pressed a kiss to Edward's rather warm cheek. "I assure you, that has nothing to do with your proficiency."

Edward didn't look convinced.

Carlisle continued, "I am, if you recall, quite a bit older than you are."

At that, he smiled (pink lips curving just so). "I know. It turns me on."

"Everything turns you on."

He shrugged. "Touché."

"Come now," Carlisle said, taking his hand in his. "Bella's sure to have noticed."

The girl just smiled knowingly when they finally returned to their seats. Carlisle (much to his chagrin) felt the blush return to his cheeks.

Edward, clearly, obviously sated, was oblivious. He propped an elbow on the bar and rested a flushed cheek on his palm, that little dreamy smile still playing on his lips.

Christ. Carlisle wanted to bury his face in his hands. They might as well announce it to the entire bar. He took a steadying breath and stole another discreet glance at the boy. The boy whose green eyes were far too bright, whose ridiculous hair was stuck to his lovely forehead with a telltale bit of sweat.

"Another Scotch, please," Carlisle announced.

"What he's having," Edward chimed in.

"Water for him," Carlisle quickly amended. "He's cut off."

Bella laughed. Edward was (thankfully) too happily content to object.

Later, they lay curled together in bed. They reached for each other so naturally, so easily now (clung together like vines, like ivy).

Carlisle smiled and pressed his mouth to Edward's hair, breathing him in. The smell of the boy was as familiar as his own, but it never failed to soothe, invite, intoxicate him. He slid an arm around Edward's waist and pulled him closer still.

He sighed.

They were both naked. They often slept that way, even when they were simply sleeping. Edward had commented once that he preferred it like that, and Carlisle had smiled at the sincerity (innocence, openness) of his expression as he described how risqué it felt to sleep without clothes, skin touching skin.

It was certainly an indulgence the older man could approve of.

"Did you mean it?" Carlisle asked after a few minutes.

"Hmm?" Edward managed, voice slurred with sleep.

"That we'd go to Milwaukee this weekend. Are the Cubs actually playing?"

Edward laughed, twisted in his arms. "No. I made that up. I have no idea where they're playing."

Carlisle paused, slid a hand down the boy's back. "Would you like to?"

"Like to what?"

"Would you like to go to Milwaukee…or anywhere?" He tried to sound casual but suddenly, desperately he wanted to get away for a while with Edward.

The young man turned his face up to his. "Yes, I would." Then: "Where will we go?"

"Anywhere you like."

Edward nodded seriously, lips pressed together. "I've never been to the beach."

Carlisle smiled. "We'll make arrangements tomorrow."

The boy turned then, body stretching, sliding against his. Carlisle groaned as he felt his ever-present erection trail a damp line down his thigh.

"What time is it?" Edward asked. "You up for another go?"

Carlisle laughed at that. Edward's choice of phrasing never failed to amuse him. "I suppose," he said, rolling over, pinning the boy snuggly beneath him, "I could manage, as you put it, another go."

"Good," he breathed, wriggling a bit.

The man enjoyed the press of Edward's cock against his stomach.

"Because you've made me incredibly hard." He wriggled again, as if to emphasize his point.

"I've noticed," Carlisle said, kissing him, opening his mouth against the delightful sounds he made.

Edward was still moving beneath him, hips lifting, shifting. "Oh…oh yes…" he breathed (lips slipping along Carlisle's jaw). "Can we…" he gasped, "can we do it like we did the first time?"

At that, Carlisle pushed himself up on his elbows to look down at him. Edward groaned at the loss of friction and narrowed his eyes rather petulantly.

The man forced himself not to laugh. "Tell me," he asked, still holding himself above the boy. "Do you mean the first time when you showed up at my house in the middle of the night and nearly came in your trousers on my front porch? Or the first time when you did come in your trousers – in public I might add – in the corner booth at the pub?"

Edward tried to look cross but only managed to look mildly amused. "No, you prat," he said, hooking a leg around Carlisle's thighs, pulling him down again. "The first time we did it properly." 

He made a show of looking around. "You know. In your bed." Then he frowned. "Don't you remember?"

Carlisle did remember. The boy (naked, awkward and aroused…and beautiful, so beautiful) stretched out beneath him on the bed. The frantic press of bodies, as they rocked against each other. And Edward's eyes (so green and so wide) as he came between them.

Carlisle kissed him once and took his hands in his (stretched them above his head and pinned them there).

Edward moaned when he began to move.

Carlisle was still amazed at how well they fit together, his cock sliding in the narrow valley of Edward's hips, Edward's pressed between their bodies. Carlisle could feel his heart pounding against his own chest. He could feel the ripple of muscle, as Edward tensed and shifted beneath him. He could feel the warmth of too soft skin against his own.

"God, yes…like that." Edward's eyes were squeezed shut, pink lips parted (just so). "Like you're fucking me."

Carlisle paused. "Do you want me too?"

"No…" The young man opened his eyes again and shook his head. "No. Just…don't…stop."

He pressed down once more, and Edward cried out, back arching, shoulders pushing into the mattress. Then, suddenly he stilled, warm slickness spilling between them, smearing with each snap of Carlisle's hips.

He gasped, as Edward pulled a hand free from his grasp, slipped it down to curl warm fingers around his cock. "You now."

Later (once they were clean and dry and curled together once more), Edward settled back against the man's side. They lay quietly for a long while. Carlisle felt the steady rise and fall of the boy's chest against his own, and he thought he must have fallen asleep.

But then Edward turned his head (mouth pressed to Carlisle's collarbone) and murmured. "Did you mean it?"

"What?" Carlisle asked softly, fingers in the boy's hair.

"Did you mean what you said last week?" Edward opened one eye (a slit of green staring up at the older man). "About me moving in…permanently?" He spoke calmly, but Carlisle could hear the uncertainty there.

He laughed, pressed another kiss to Edward's lovely hair. "Yes. I meant it." He stoked a fingertip across the boy's cheek. "I meant it, just as I meant it the two dozen or so other times I'd said it before."

Edward closed his eyes again. "I'd like that," he sighed; the man could feel his body relax against him. "I think I'd really like that."

Carlisle smiled, unsurprised at the warmth that unfurled in his chest. "I'd like that too."

Fin


End file.
